We're Not The Same
by NutsandVolts
Summary: She called him the old man from 3 with a fetish for electricity. He called her the daredevil girl from 7 without a second thought about anything. But after facing the horrors of Capitol torture, she finds herself yearning for anyone to make her feel safe again. And after losing the one person he cared about, he finds himself longing for someone to call his own. Beetee/Johanna.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. The Hunger Games trilogy belongs to Suzanne Collins and any other entities who have purchased the rights. This is for entertainment purposes only.**

**Rating: T. I'm trying to cut back on the swearing, but it is a relationship between a man and woman twenty-seven years apart in age, so I went with rated T to be safe. Which brings us to...**

**Shipping: Beetee/Johanna. I know what you're thinking—why is someone who's penname is NutsandVolts and who is obsessed with Beeress writing a _serious _Beejo fic? Well, despite my initial dislike of the pairing, I've warmed up to it considerably and wanted to experiment with this. :) The point of view switches from Johanna to Beetee every chapter; don't worry about trying to remember because the name of the character who's point of view it's in will be listed above each chapter. I hope you enjoy!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

**Johanna Mason**

The fluorescent light gives me a migraine when I open my eyes. The first thing I'm aware of is, besides the headache, a complete absence of pain. I feel weighted and sleepy, but my mind is reeling. Where am I? Still in the Capitol? Did those men with the white masks use too much voltage like they did on the redheaded girl and nearly kill me? Are they fixing me up so that they can start fresh?

I bite my lip, holding back tears as I glare at the hateful ceiling. I won't tell them anything. That's been my strategy so far. I _can't _tell them anything. Everyone's counting on me not to. No matter what they do to me, I still won't reveal anything about the rebellion or District 13 or Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay. And hopefully, the bastards torturing me and holding me prisoner—along with Annie Cresta and Peeta Mellark—will realize that I'm not going to talk and just kill me already.

A door opens. I keep my gaze firmly on the ceiling, blinking away my tears. They will not have the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I have cried in prison—when Annie and Peeta were taken away, a few times when they made me listen to Peeta screaming, when I feared I'd break and tell my torturers everything just to make the pain stop, even when they shaved my head, as stupid as it sounds—but they haven't seen my tears yet and I'm determined to keep it that way. I wipe my mind clean as footsteps approach my bedside. And then, to my surprise, someone speaks. I recognize the voice. And it isn't one of my captors.

"Johanna? Are you awake?" I hear my visitor pull up a chair. I don't look in his direction, refusing to believe it just yet. Surely I've just gone off the deep end. They couldn't have captured someone else. But if he's here, and he's not tied up or something, that must mean he's free.

And that means I am too.

I allow myself to sit up and look at the man sitting by my bed. Black hair, glasses that still don't fit right, that stupid nervous twitch in his hands. Really pale. Kind of weird-looking, actually. But I know they got him out of the arena, so that must mean I'm in 13 with him, far away from the Capitol. So despite his freakiness or how I don't even really like him, I throw my arms around his neck.

"Johanna!" Volts seems surprised at my hug, but after a moment, he awkwardly slides his arms around my waist and pats my back. Of course I have to get all stupid and emotional at the feel of such a gentle touch and the knowledge that here is at least _one _person who isn't going to hurt me, so I start crying, which of course only freaks Beetee out more. I'm not a hugger or a crier, and even if I were, I wouldn't be hugging or crying on him of all people in normal circumstances. How long have we known each other through mentoring of the Games and such? Five, six years maybe? How much of that time have I spent making fun of him and his sidekick, the mad little songbird that got killed in the Quarter Quell arena? I can't count that high, but I know it's a bunch. And now, I'm hugging him and crying on him like he's my best friend or my father or something. Most likely the latter since he's so much older than me.

Beetee untangles himself from my arms and gets a box of tissues from the little table by my bed, and I blow my nose gratefully, feeling nothing short of stupid. He must think I've lost it. Maybe I have. Then I have to remind myself that this is Volts and that I don't really care what he thinks.

"Are you alright?" he asks when I've calmed down some.

"Not really," I mutter, wiping my eyes. Despite my relief of seeing a familiar, nonthreatening face, I can't help but feel resentment toward him. Um, hello? Just spent the past two months getting tortured half to death! Do you _think _I'm alright, brainless?

"Are you doing better?" he amends.

I smirk. "Well, unless you plan on shanking me in the side with that pen in your shirt pocket, no one's hurting me, so yeah, I guess you could say I'm doing better."

Volts doesn't seem to appreciate my humor. His grave expression suddenly reminds me of Peeta and Annie, and guilt twists my insides into a knot; here I am, making jokes, and I don't know what happened to _them _yet.

"Did you get Annie and Peeta out?" I demand.

Beetee shifts uncomfortably. "Yes," he says without looking at me. "We successfully retrieved everyone but Enobaria."

I scoff. Lousy traitor. She's probably in some fancy-shmancy five-star hotel room in the Capitol living it up for all her troubles.

"How's Annie doing?" I ask.

"Fine," says Beetee. "She's in another room; I presume she's with Finnick."

I smile a little, feeling happy that my friend and his lover are finally reunited. "And Peeta?" I continue.

Again, Beetee shifts in his seat a bit, seeming uncomfortable. "And Peeta?" I repeat.

He tugs his shirt collar, still not answering. "What happened to Peeta?" I demand, my voice rising in alarm.

"We got him out," Beetee says, "but...not completely."

"What the hell does that tell me?" I shout. "What happened to Peeta?"

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. I find myself staring at it in some surprise; I've never really looked, but it occurs to me that he isn't gray yet. How old is he? Fifty-something? Considering the Quell and his first Games and a whole lot of crap in between, his hair should be either silver or gone. But neither are true. Huh. Something's wrong with Peeta, and I'm pondering Volts's _hair _for crying out loud. I suppose I _have _lost it.

"We don't really know exactly what was done to Peeta," says Volts, "but we have a theory." He takes a breath. "Hijacking."

"What's that?"

"We believe that Peeta was injected with tracker jacker venom," he explains, "and that his memories—especially those of Katniss—were altered so that he would find her threatening enough to want to kill her."

My eyes widen. I couldn't imagine a world where Peeta wasn't googly-eyed for Katniss. And now he wants her dead? How long have I been out?

"But you'll fix him, right?" I say.

"We're going to try," Beetee replies. "But hijacking rehabilitation has never been done before."

"You _have _to fix him," I insist.

"We'll try," he says again.

"And if he's stuck a psycho for the rest of his life?"

He sighs softly and pauses. "We don't know what will happen then," he admits. "But we'll do our best to retrieve him from the state he's in as of now."

Meaning even Volts and his team of fellow nerds can't fix Peeta. It must really suck to be Katniss right now. I'm sure she's got plenty of people to help her, though. She's a priorty. Everyone has to keep her alive, no matter if a few other losers like me get snatched by the Capitol in the process.

Some weird watch thing on Beetee's wrist starts beeping. I don't think it's a normal wristwatch, though; it's too big. "Is your eyesight so bad that you have to supersize your watch?" I say.

"No," he replies. "This isn't a watch. It's a communicuff."

"A what now?"

"A communicuff," he repeats. "It displays printed messeges from President Coin and her various representatives."

"Oh. Cool. I guess." I put my hand on my head to run my fingers through my hair. Then I remember I don't _have _any hair. Something about Volts's pitying gaze makes me feel self-conscious about it for the first time; then I get upset because I don't want anyone, especially not him, feeling sorry for me. "Don't you have something to do?" I snap.

"Yes," Beetee answers. "I have to return to Special Weaponry. Urgent business. But we have Reflection at six o'clock; I could come back then, if you'd like."

"Do whatever you want."

"So I can come back?"

"Whatever."

"Is that a yes, Johanna?"

"Do whatever you want!" I yell, loudly enough wake up the rest of the stinking hospital. Not that I care, though. "Jeez, since when do you give a crap about me?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he asks.

"Don't answer questions with questions," I snap. "It's annoying as hell."

"Alright, then." He rises. "And as to why I care about you, it's probably because you're the rescued victor given the least attention."

I have about fifty thousand swear words on my tongue and I'm about to cuss him out so badly he'll feel it in the morning when he adds, "And you shouldn't be."

I stop short. No one says stuff like that about me. No one cares that much—okay, maybe Finnick does, but that's it. "I don't want your stinking pity," I snarl.

"Not pity. Compassion," Volts corrects. "But I really should be going; I'll see you soon, if that's alright."

"Fine! Just go!"

He finally does, and I throw my stupid bald head back against the pillow. I don't need anyone's pity, especially not a stupid middle-aged nerd's pity. I don't need _anyone_, as a matter of fact.

Besides, no one needs me either.

**Aww, poor Jo. Anyway, be sure to review this chapter and give me any feedback! I've only ever written in Jo's point of view once, so if she seems OOC, I'd love critique on how to improve that. :) **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	2. Chapter 2

**Beetee Askeral**

The hour of six comes soon enough. As promised, I return to the hospital to visit Johanna.

I don't know what compels me to do so; she's never been particularly kind to me or to Wiress before she met her end in the Quell. Johanna isn't even a nice person in general. But seeing her wide-eyed, scared, bald, and emaciated stirs in me the desire to be her friend; no one else seems to be putting forth that effort, and holding childish grudges against her for her demeaning nickname—Volts—would be nothing short of cruel. So at precisely six o'clock in the evening, I knock on her door.

"Get your butt in here! I'm not opening it!" she yells from inside the room. I blink, still a little unused to her audacity, and enter her hospital room. Johanna sits in the same position as she was earlier, her back against the headboard of the bed, thin arms folded, wide, haunted-looking eyes glaring straight ahead. Once again, my eyes are drawn to the all-too-visible bones of her face, of her shoulders, of her arms that show clearly through her pajamas. Bile rises in the back of my throat at the thought of an actual human being inflicting that torture on her. I still don't know exactly how she was tortured, but I'm not so tactless as to ask when the mental scars are still so raw.

"Have you eaten today?" I ask when I'm situated in the chair by her bed.

Johanna grins ironically. "Sure have. I can't get out of this place until my BMI's back to normal. That's body mass index, by the way," she adds.

I nod. This I already knew.

"I have to weight one hundred and thirty pounds," she continues.

"How much do you weigh now?" I ask. It occurs to me suddenly that this typically isn't a polite question to ask a female and I redden, dropping my gaze to the floor.

When I finally have the courage to look up at her, still red-faced from my mistake, Johanna's eyes are narrowed slightly and her pale lips are pursed. "You don't get out much, do you?"

"Not really," I admit, smiling a little. She just rolls her eyes.

"I weigh a hundred pounds," she answers. She pats her stomach. "I got thirty pounds to put on before I'm granted my freedom from this jail cell."

"Certainly you don't compare this to prison," I say fairly.

"I do. Can't do anything but eat and sleep," she says.

A twinge of pity stabs me just below my ribs. "Doesn't anyone come to visit you?"

"Not really." Johanna doesn't seem sad; she seems to be merely stating a fact, as if the fact that only a handful of people have visited her since her retrieval from the Capitol is as boring and indisputable as the sum of two and two. "Finnick has a few times, but I don't push him to come. He's got Annie, and they should spend time together."

She starts picking at the blanket covering her lower half with the bony fingers of her left hand. When she starts tugging threads out, I intervene, putting my hand on hers to restrain her. "You'll ruin it," I tell her before realizing the temperature of her hand. Her thin fingers are icy. "Are you cold?" I ask.

"Eh," says Johanna. "Can't get that warm what with all my body fat starved off."

I take her other hand and clasp her freezing hands in mine to warm them some. "What are you doing?" asks Johanna, narrowing her eyes again.

"Trying to warm your hands up," I explain. "Are you wearing socks?"

"What? Are you going to rub my feet, too?"

"No," I say—though in her state, if she were to ask, I wouldn't refuse. I'd have no right to when I was rescued from the arena and she wasn't. "You lose all of your body heat from your extremities. Your hands, feet, your head. If you want to stay warm, you should start wearing socks regularly since you're too thin to regulate your own body temperature. And a hat, since you don't..."

I trail off, reddening again. Why mention that she's bald? I think Johanna knows that all too well. The look she gives me confirms this, and I shy away from her glare.

"I know," she snaps. "I'm baby-butt bald."

She falls into a moody silence; however, she doesn't remove her hands from mine, so I continue my attempts to increase their temperature. "I'm sorry," I say.

"Whatever."

"I really am."

"Okay. Good for you."

"Do you forgive me, Johanna?" It certainly takes some effort to get a straight answer out of her, but that doesn't mean I'm going to quit trying.

"Sure."

"Do you?"

"Yes!" she finally yells. I smile in triumph.

"Thank you," I tell her.

"Whatever," she says again.

"Dinner's in a few minutes," I say. "I usually just go back to Special Defense, but if you'd like, I could eat in here, with you."

"Whatever."

"Do you mind?"

She seems torn between not liking me and craving human company. The latter must be what wins over because, after a pause, she says, "No."

"Alright, then."

Johanna suddenly narrows her eyes again. I peer into them; I've never really looked at her eyes, but close inspection reveals that they're large and dark brown. Mesmerizing, even. So much so that when she speaks, I miss her question. "What was that?" I ask.

She huffs angrily; I can see that she thinks I'm ignoring her. Because there isn't a way to state that I just got lost in her eyes without sounding deranged, I decide to let her continue assuming as much. "I said, how much do _you _weigh?"

"I'm not sure," I answer.

"More or less than one-thirty?"

"Less," I decide.

"Well, how tall are you?"

"Five feet, four inches," I say.

Johanna smirks. "I'm taller than you," she taunts.

I don't rise to the bait; this is her way of inflicting her misery upon someone else. Instead, I say simply, "Yes, you are."

"How does it feel to have a girl who's taller than you?"

"I'm used to it by now," I reply.

Again, she narrows her eyes. "Do you ever get mad? Ever?"

"I'm extraordinarily good at controlling my temper," I say, "but yes, as a human being, even I get angry on occasion."

"What, do you read out of a thesaurus or something? Why do you use such big words?" she demands.

"I have a well-developed vocabulary, my dear."

She blinks at the endearment before snarling, "You think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"Of course not," I say. "Not at all."

Someone knocks on the door. "Come in!" Johanna yells.

A nurse bearing a silver cart laden with what must be Johanna's dinner enters the room; she stops the cart on the opposite side of Johanna's bed and puts the tray on her bedside table. "Enjoy," the nurse says.

Johanna sticks her tongue out at her as she leaves. Nonetheless, she takes the tray, adjusts in her bed to make a place for it on her lap, and picks up her spoon. She scoops a heaping portion of something orange that I think may be sweet potatoes onto her spoon and shoves it unceremoniously into her mouth, closing her eyes as she swallows. As she continues to eat, I can't help but notice how atrocious her manners are, but I brush it aside. Johanna has the right to eat this way considering that it's been almost two months since she's actually had a decent meal.

"Aren't you eating?" Johanna asks before swallowing. She licks her lips and puts her spoon into her now-empty bowl.

"I'm not hungry," I say. I smile. "Well, it hasn't taken you long to get your appetite back," I tell her.

"Nope," says Johanna, sucking her fingers one at a time to remove them of any sweet potato she may have missed. "I'll be outta here in no time."

"That's good."

She suddenly grins. "This is nice, isn't it? Who needs work and friends when you can have lousy old me and second-rate hospital food, right, Volts?"

I smile again. "Believe it or not, Johanna, you aren't as much of a pain as some make you out to be."

"Aw, really?" She pretends to pout. "I guess I'll just have to fix that."

I rise. "You do that," I say. I look at her empty tray and bowl. "Want me to take that for you?"

She sits up a little straighter. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"Dinner's almost over. I have to go back to Special Defense," I say.

Her shoulders slump. "Come back afterward," she says, trying to make the words a demand. I think she's just desperate for companionship, though; she'd hate me for thinking this way, but I feel sorry for her.

"I can't," I say apologetically. "I've got a busy schedule. But I could come back tomorrow during Reflection and eat dinner here, too. Six o'clock to seven o'clock."

"Okay. Do that," she says. Her brown eyes peer around. "So, um…bye, then, Volts. Er, Beetee."

This is the first time she's ever used my first name; frankly, I wasn't sure she even knew it. I squeeze her cold hands one last time before taking her dishes for her. When I'm at the door, Johanna speaks again. "Beetee?"

I turn back. "Yes?"

She grins, eyes sparkling with delight. Even when she's thin and bald, she isn't unattractive. Those eyes certainly add enough to her beauty to cancel out what little the starvation and baldness detract. And the Capitol hasn't stolen any of her spunk. With care and a few gentle nudges, Johanna will hopefully be back to her old self in no time. This pleases me in a way I'm not fully capable of understanding; however, when Johanna answers my question, my satisfaction turns to humiliation. "Your fly's down," she cheerfully informs.

My face and ears turn scarlet; I balance the tray in one hand as I frantically yank my zipper up with the other. I don't turn to see Johanna's expression, hurrying out of the room instead, but I can hear her laughter as I sprint down the hallway.

**At least Jo didn't let him walk around for the rest of the day like that. :) As always, my biggest worry is that I made these two wonderful characters OOC; what do you think? Please leave a review! And by the way, an askeral is a real thing; it's a generic term for a group of synthetic, fire-resistant, chlorinated aromatic hydrocarbons used as electrical insulated fluids. I was inspired to give Beetee an actual electricity/science-related surname by the very talented Obiwanlivesforever; be sure to check out her stories! She's listed under my favorites. :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	3. Chapter 3

**Johanna Mason**

"Miss Mason, I know this may be difficult for you to accept considering all of the hardships you've gone through as of late, but you are completely and totally safe," says the head doctor. Idiot. I didn't even bother to learn his stupid name.

"No duh, brainless," I snap. "You say that at least thirty billion times a session; it's sunk in by now!"

The only good thing about these sessions is that I'm not supposed to censor my feelings, so I can pretty much say whatever I like. I spent the first few just cussing out the head doctor, but it got old pretty quickly, so now I just say whatever I feel. Right now, I _don't _feel totally safe; I'm in danger of losing my stinking mind.

I look over at the clock. The head doctor comes to see me after lunch every day and doesn't leave until Reflection, which I learned is a thirty-minute free period before dinner. The rest of the day I have to myself, but apparently, I'm not stable enough to be out and about. Morons. Like they know whether I'm stable or not. I'm not screaming my head off like poor Peeta, now am I? I'm not yelling that Katniss is a mutt or trying to kill her, am I? No.

These are not things the doctors told me, by the way. No, the stupid doctors never tell me anything; they're afraid if they corrupt my "fragile mind," I'll go nuts. Like I said, idiots. Most of the actual information I get comes from Beetee, who, as promised, comes to see me every single day immediately after the head doctor leaves. He only has an hour to do so—he spends the rest of the time in Special Defense with Katniss's friend Gale building weapons and stuff—but he always manages to get down here from six o'clock to seven o'clock, and with a little nudging, he always tells me whatever I want to know.

Peeta isn't getting much better. Katniss apparently couldn't take the pain of him not loving her anymore, so she took off to District 2 about a week ago, which is the only district that hasn't been captured by the rebels.

In return, I give him some tidbits of information whenever I'm actually _told _stuff—which isn't often. But when six o'clock rolls around and Beetee shows up, I happily inform him that I now weigh one hundred and fifteen pounds.

"I'm halfway there," I say. "Then I can get let out of this place."

He nods. "That's good."

"Well, duh, brainless. This place is a drag."

We talk about trivial things as dinner comes; he eats with me today, which usually means he's in a good mood, but when he puts his fork down, he looks grim. "I have to go," he says.

"Where? To the bathroom? It's right down the hall."

"No. I mean go, go. Away. From Thirteen."

I drop my own fork in alarm. "Why? Where are you going?" I demand.

"District Two." Beetee gives me my fork back. "In order to succeed in capturing it for the rebels, we have to take the mountain we've named 'The Nut.' A team has been organized to help with that, and I'm a part of it."

I take another bite of my turnips. "How long have you known about this?" I angrily ask my bowl.

"A few days," he admits. "I didn't say anything earlier because I knew it'd upset you."

"Keeping stinking secrets just upsets me more, Volts," I retort. He flinches; I've developed the habit of only calling him Volts when I'm pissed at him. Which I am, actually. Very much so.

"I'll come back," he says. He tries to smile. "It's not as if I'm going to be in combat, Johanna. Do you really think they'd let _me _in combat? I'll only help develop the plan to bring down the Nut. I'll be perfectly safe."

I glare at him. "What the hell makes you think I'm worried about your stinking safety?"

Beetee's eyes widen. "If you aren't, why are you so upset?"

"Because you're my one of my only friends and you kept secrets and now you're leaving me in this cookhouse," I snap.

He blinks. "I'm your friend, Johanna?" he asks quietly.

"Well, no duh, brainless," I respond. "If you weren't my friend, if I didn't want you here, do you really think I'd keep letting you come see me? I thought _you_ were the smart one."

"So, we're friends?"

"Um, _yeah_," I say again. "And friends don't keep secrets!"

"I'm sorry." He puts his warm hand over mine. I'm still too skinny to stay very warm, so my hands are always cold. Despite my anger at him, I grasp his hand feverishly, compelling him to take my other one and warm them up. "I really am sorry, Johanna. But I promise I'll be back."

"Whatever," I mutter, but it's hard to be mad at him when he's this close and he's holding and rubbing my freezing hands. Damn. Maybe this is why I don't have friends. Because when you have friends, you can't stay pissed at them even if they screw up really badly.

"Do you forgive me, Johanna?"

"Sure," I mumble. "Fine. But you better get your butt back here pronto. Or else."

Beetee smiles. "I'll be sure to do just that." He rises.

"When are you leaving?" I ask as I thrust my dishes at him. He takes them and puts both of our plates on my tray, balancing it against his hip.

"Tomorrow," he answers.

I gape at him. "You really put it off until the last minute, didn't you?" I snap.

"Yes," he admits. "We leave tomorrow at around noon."

"So I won't see you for another…what, a month maybe?"

"Maybe. Hopefully less." He sits on the bed this time. "Are you alright with that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really." Beetee touches my cheek. "But I still want to know."

Ugh, stupid nerd is impossible to remain pissed at. "Just come back in one piece, you big geek," I mumble.

He smiles again and goes to the door. "That's what I like to hear," he says before leaving.

I sigh and tunnel under the blanket after shutting off the light, deciding to just go to sleep. Considering all the crap I've gone through recently, I shouldn't be so willing to subject myself to whatever images my subconscious can dream up, but the morphling makes sleep pretty bearable. My insides are in knots, though, and I doubt I'll get much sleep tonight. Part of me wonders why I care so much. I mean, it's _Volts _for crying out loud. Just a few months ago, I wouldn't give a flying flip if I learned he had been thrown _off _the mountain. But now, I'm all jittery just because he's going to help "capture" one or whatever that means. What gives? I'm used to being lonely. I shouldn't care, I shouldn't. Finnick's my only friend, really; sure, he only comes to see me about once every few days, but I insist that he spend as much time as he wants to with Annie. And even if Beetee and I are kind of friends now, I still shouldn't care. How long has this sort-of-friendship been going on? A week and then some? I've known Finnick for years and don't have this stupid separation anxiety when _we're _apart. Why should Beetee be any different?

"Is there any possibility that your relationship with Beetee is different than your relationship with Finnick?" asks the head doctor. Out of boredom and a tiny hope of discovering an answer, I explained my issue to him when he arrived a few minutes ago. I'm so confused I only ate a bit of my favorite lunch, turkey and okra stew with sesame seeds. I like it because it tastes like home.

"What do you mean?" I ask, idly sticking my finger in my ear to scratch it. The doctor looks disgusted, especially when I wipe whatever wax I collect on the blanket. I smirk at his discomfort.

"How would you describe your relationship with Finnick? Brotherly, romantic—"

"No!" I interrupt. "There is _no _romance between me and Finnick. Ugh. We're just friends."

"So he's like a brother?"

"Sure," I say to appease him.

"And what about Beetee? Is he like a brother as well?" the head doctor asks.

I pause. "Not really."

"Well, is he like a father figure of some kind?" he continues.

I shake my head. "No." I don't want to think about fathers and brothers. They make me think of my father and brother and the stupid guy from the Capitol I was supposed to let do things to me and then refusing and going home and what happened when I actually got there. And of course, there was that stinking rose from President Snow on the floor with my family's blood all around it. See, Katniss's isn't the only life he's screwed up. But I shut them out of my mind like always and repeat my answer. "No."

"Well," says the head doctor, "could it be possible that you actually have romantic feelings for him?"

My face starts burning. "No!" I shout, too shocked and embarrassed to be properly pissed like I should be. "No, of course not! He's, like, twice my age! Ugh, that's disgusting! How could you even suggest that?"

"It would explain why you miss him so inexplicably," he replies.

"I don't miss him," I snap.

"Don't you?"

I blink. _Do _I? This mingled jitteriness and sluggishness—is this what it's like to miss someone you love? Is that what it is?

"Aren't you supposed to be ranting about how safe I am?" I retort.

At my insistence, the head doctor changes the subject. I answer him moodily, hardly focusing on what he's saying and instead on what he said earlier. About me possibly being in love with Volts. I don't consider it seriously for long. Me and Volts? Please. Like _that'll _ever happen.

**;) Is Jo in denial? What do you think? Leave a review, please!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	4. Chapter 4

**Beetee Askeral**

"The next person who suggests we take the entrances better have a brilliant way to do it," Lyme, a Hunger Games victor and commander from 2 who is helping us capture the Nut, flares at us, "because you're going to be the one leading that mission!"

I lean back in my chair and clasp my forehead, sighing. I suppose I can't blame her for her impatience considering how many of her soldiers have been killed attempting the plan, but Lyme must know that storming the entrances of the Nut seems like the most straightforward plan—at least, on paper. Gale stares out the window, as he's been doing for most of this meeting, and is clearly deep in thought; I turn my gaze to him, wondering if that spark in his gray eyes comes from having discovered something. And sure enough, I'm proven correct.

"Is it really so necessary that we take the Nut?" he says, turning to us. "Or would it be enough to disable it?"

I nod, impressed with his thinking. "That would be a step in the right direction. What do you have in mind?" I ask.

"Think of it as a wild dog den. You're not going to fight your way in. So you have two choices. Trap the dogs in or flush them out," he explains.

Lyme interjects. "We've tried bombing the entrances. They're set too far inside the stone for any real damage to be done."

"I wasn't thinking of that," Gale replies. "I was thinking of using the mountain." He gestures for me to come over and I gaze out at the enormous mountain. I look closely, narrowing my eyes, and Gale says, "See? Running down the sides?"

Suddenly, I do. "Avalanche paths," I murmur. I formulate a plan. "It'd be tricky. We'd have to design the detonation sequence with great care, and once it's in motion, we couldn't hope to control it."

"We don't need to control it," says Gale, "if we give up the idea that we have to possess the Nut. Only shut it down."

In spite of herself, Lyme seems genuinely impressed with him. "So you're suggesting we start avalanches and block the entrances?" she infers.

Gale nods. "That's it. Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies. Make it impossible for them to send out their hovercraft."

Not for the first time, I'm genuinely impressed with my partner. At the young age of nineteen, one wouldn't imagine he'd be so intelligent, resourceful, and capable, but Gale has proved to be much more than he seems. However, Boggs, a commander from District 13, doesn't seem as impressed; his face is set grimly as he sifts through a collection of blueprints of the Nut. "You risk killing everyone inside," he says. "Look at the ventilation system. It's rudimentary at best. Nothing like we have in Thirteen. It depends entirely on pumping in air from the mountainsides. Block those vents and you'll suffocate whoever is trapped."

I pause to think. The idea of killing all of those workers is unsettling, despite the victory their deaths would bring. A revelation hits me, and I relax some. "They could still escape through the train tunnel to the square," I say.

Gale scowls at me. His expression is that of utmost loathing; I blink in confusion when it dawns on me. His hatred is not directed toward me, but toward the Capitol and their allies that destroyed his home, District 12, with a shower of firebombs following the escape from the Quarter Quell arena. Suddenly, I know what he's going to say before he says it. "Not if we blow it up," he says in reply to my earlier comment.

Thus making the Nut a tomb. A tomb of the innocent. Just like the Hunger Games arenas for the past seventy-five years.

Because Gale is my friend and I understand his suffering despite my objections to his plan, I keep my voice void of emotion when I speak. "The majority of the workers are citizens from Two."

"So what? We'll never be able to trust them again," he counters.

"They should at least have a chance to surrender," Lyme insists.

I nod in agreement, as does another handful of people. "Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they firebombed Twelve," Gale snarls, "but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here."

I grit my teeth, shaking my head in Gale's direction in silent insistence that he cease baiting an armed commander. He and Lyme are equal in height, but she's almost twice his girth and all muscle—the product of coming from a wealthy, Capitol-favored district like 2, unlike Gale and I, who come from two very poor, disliked districts—12 and 3 respectively. However, Lyme's outrage only adds fuel to his fire; he raises his voice and hollers, "We watched children burn to death and there was nothing we could do!"

I can't help but understand him. Gale's lust for revenge is not entirely unjustified. As I peer around the rest of the meeting's attendees, I see Katniss curled up in the windowsill, staring out and seeming grave. I try to decipher what she's thinking. Does she agree with Gale, or does she feel the same dissent that I do despite her friendship? Her face unreadable, she slides off the sill and crosses over to her best friend, grasping his wrist. "Gale," she says, "the Nut's an old mine. It'd be like causing a massive coal mining accident."

So Katniss doesn't agree. I didn't think she would. Not only that, both her and Gale's fathers died in a coal mining accident. If there are any words to make him reconsider, these are them. However, he seems to recognize her tactic and is a few steps ahead. "But not so quick as the one that killed our fathers," he snaps. He turns to the rest of the group. "Is that everyone's problem? That our enemies might have a few hours to reflect on the fact that they're dying, instead of just being blown to bits?"

"You don't know how those District Two people ended up in the Nut," Katniss insists. "They may have been coerced. They may be held against their will. Some are our own spies. Will you kill them, too?"

Once again, Gale doesn't fall victim to her ploy. I suppose he simply knows her too well. "I would sacrifice a few, yes, to take out the rest of them. And if I were a spy in there, I'd say, 'Bring on the avalanches!'"

"You said we had two choices. To trap them in or flush them out," says Boggs. "I say we try to avalanche the mountain but leave the train tunnel alone. People can escape into the square, where we'll be waiting for them."

"Heavily armed, I hope. You can be sure they'll be," says Gale.

"Heavily armed," Boggs repeats, nodding. "We'll take them prisoner."

"Let's bring District Thirteen into the loop now. Let President Coin weigh in," I interject.

"She'll want to block the tunnel," Gale insists.

"Yes, most likely," I agree. "But you know, Peeta did have a point in his propos. About the dangers of killing ourselves off. I've been playing with some numbers. Factoring in the casualties and the wounded and...I think it's at least worth a conversation."

Ironically enough, it's my plan—that both plans be discussed more thoroughly—that is selected as the best one. Not everyone is allowed to take part in this discussion, however; Gale isn't, and neither is Katniss. I am, though, as are Lyme and Boggs. A few other various commanders are as well. We only have to converse for a short while; our decision is unanimous. When President Coin is contacted for her opinion, she agrees. Gale's plan will be enacted, but without the blockage of the train tunnel so that the workers can escape. By the time six o'clock rolls around, we're ready to put the plan into motion.

As I gaze out at the mountain our hoverplanes are swifly converting into a viscous liquid, I can't help but wonder what I would be doing had I stayed in 13. I know exactly what; I'd be in the hospital with Johanna. Not for the first time, I stop and ponder what my relationship with her has become. Before the Quell and even during it, she was little more than a fellow victor, and a pretty nasty piece of work as well; she not only developed degrading nicknames for my district partner and best friend, Wiress—who met her untimely end during the Quell—and me, she made sure that we knew we meant less than dirt to her whenever possible. Now, however, Johanna's feelings for me seem to have changed. Her personality remains largely the same, but she doesn't seem to outwardly dislike me anymore. She told me she sees me as a friend, and she seems to truly care about me, whether or not she'll admit it. And if I'm honest with myself, I care about her as well. I care about her very much, in fact. Tremendously, even. Considering that this friendship has lasted about a week and a half, it's extraordinary, the depth of my feelings for her. They remind me of my feelings for Wiress—the need to protect her, genuinely understanding her, a deep friendship that even after a short time is clearly going to last long. Of course, that was before I sent Wiress to clean that reel of wire and Gloss found her.

There are some differences, however. What I feel for Johanna seems deeper than the steady friendship I had with Wiress. This is where I begin to confuse myself; while Wiress and I were very, very close, in no way were we romantically involved. I often saw her as a younger sister, someone to tease and shelter simultaneously. It was a bond that only death could break. To make that bond deeper would make it romance, and if my feelings for Johanna coincide with that...have I fallen in love with Johanna? Surely I haven't. That would be utterly ridiculous. I know that she's younger than Finnick, so at the very oldest, she's twenty-three, an entire twenty-six years my junior. Besides, this friendship we've developed has lasted for less than two weeks; that can't be enough to nuture a devoted feeling such as love. Besides, even if I _did _love Johanna, it's not like she'd ever feel the same way. I brush off the inexplicable sadness that touches my heart. I don't feel that way, either, so it doesn't matter.

The Nut is a pile of rubble by the time I return from my contemplation and gaze out at it again. Everyone, minus the soldiers, is ushered into the Justice Building. And then the battle begins. Survivors from the Nut are injured but armed and ready; our soldiers are just as prepared to fight not only them but the Peacekeepers flanking to their defense. Every outdoor light is activated to its full extent and the square is alien in its brightness; the Peacekeepers in their white uniforms especially seem inhuman because of how reflective they are.

The fighting continues well into the night. At two o'clock in the morning, Katniss reluctantly agrees to give a speech to discourage 2's forces from continuing the battle when the rebels have already won. It's clear, however, that they don't plan to cater to her whims so easily. Two trains arrive in the train station behind the Justice Building, carrying District 2 citizens that are wounded, but armed and prepared to fight to the death. Defiant cries mingle with pain-filled moans.

Something catches Katniss's eye, and suddenly, she rushes to a wounded young man crying, "Stop! Hold your fire! Stop!"

We stare at her, first transfixed, then horrified as the man takes his gun and aims for the Mockingjay's skull. She freezes.

"Give me one rerason I shouldn't shoot you," the man snarls; the gaping hole in his cheek makes his speech almost unintelligible.

Katniss stares, wide-eyed. Her answer surprises everyone. "I can't," she says.

The man's perplexity mirrors that of his allies and the rebels. "I can't," Katniss repeats. "That's the problem, isn't it? We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We've got every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them."

She drops her weapon, a bow I made specially for her in Special Defense. The man is kneeling, and the bow skids over to his knees. "I'm not their slave," he mutters.

"I am. That's why I killed Cato...and he killed Thresh...and he killed Clove...and she tried to kill me," replies Katniss, referring to her first Hunger Games. "It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games."

We wait on tenterhooks for the man's reaction. When he doesn't reply, Katniss continues her speech—and as she talks, I'm suddenly aware of why we made her the Mockingjay. She is truly perfect for the role; I can almost hear the waves of revolution sweeping across the nation at her words. Perhaps Peeta taught her a thing or two before the Capitol warped him.

"Please!" Katniss cries out, holding out her arms. "Join us!"

Her words ring out to everyone across Panem. Someone in the crowd, however, isn't as impressed as I am. Because a few moments after Katniss is done speaking, someone shoots her.

Soldiers are immediately taming the crowd from 2, but most of their fight is gone. Medics hurry out to Katniss, who seems unconcious; luckily, her Mockingjay armor should make it so that the bullet didn't penetrate. As she's brought to a hovercraft for transportation back to 13, I overhear Boggs say that he believes 2 is now ours. This means I'll be returning to 13.

I swore I had no romantic feelings for Johanna. None whatsoever. But in spite of everything—the deaths Gale's plan undoubtedly caused and Katniss's injuries, to say the least—the first thing that comes to mind is how happy Johanna will be when I fulfill my promise and return to her.

**Aww...*singing* Can you feel the loooove tonight? *speaking* Hee hee hee. Anyway, I'll update ASAP; leave a review, please!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	5. Chapter 5

**Johanna Mason**

The head doctor thumbs through the journal he's been making me keep—"Many patients who have suffered trauma find journaling therapeutic, Miss Mason," he always says—and frowns. I know why, too; I haven't been using the journal for writing so much as for doodling when I'm bored.

"Miss Mason," says the head doctor, showing me the page he's on, "is this one of your captors from the Capitol?"

Um, no, brainless. That picture of a guy hanging from a noose with me laughing is _you _because that is what I envision to get myself through these stupid sessions. Of course, he doesn't need to know that, so I say, "Yeah."

"I understand he must have hurt you a lot," he says, "but violence isn't the—"

"I got to take a leak," I interrupt so that I don't have to hear his stupid speech.

The head doctor sighs and says, "Go ahead, Miss Mason."

I unhook myself from my morphing drip and leave to find the bathroom. They used to let me tote it around with me, but now, they want me to become "less dependent" on it. Not only that, they're cutting back my supply of the stuff. I guess they're afraid I'll get addicted. Not likely. I just don't like waking up screaming my head off. Morphing makes sleep easy.

I find the ladies' room. I'm about to go in to do my business when I see a doctor roll a patient in a gurney down the hall. I blink in surprise when I realize who she is. Katniss. And they're putting her in _my _hospital room. Hm. So me and bird-girl are roomies. Cool, I guess. But then I realize something else. If Katniss is back, does that mean the mission was a success? The doctors don't let me watch TV—afraid I'll rot my brains or something—so I don't know what happened to her. I shrug and enter the restroom, do my thing, and stop in front of the sink. Not washing my hands after you pee is nasty. But water and I aren't the best of pals anymore. Not after those bastards in white masks soaked me in a tub of water before electrocuting me over and over and over. But this is different. So I turn the water on its lowest, warmest setting—the water they used was always cold—and put soap on my hands. I lather for a whole minute just to avoid using the water, and then, squeezing my eyes shut, I rinse them off quickly. I still have some suds on my hands when I'm done, but I just wipe those off with a paper towel. There. That wasn't so bad. I look at my fingernails. Ugh, they're dirty. Should probably clean those sometime too.

I walk out of the bathroom and am greeted with a sight so unexpectedly delighting my stomach starts fluttering. It's like you have gas but you don't. It makes me feel warm and tingly and just plain weird. I duck back behind the wall and peer out.

Beetee paces up and down in front of my door. He keeps going up to it, holding up his fist as if to knock, and then shaking his head and walking away. Then he'll do it again. Weird. Then again, _he's _weird.

I step out of the bathroom and say, "I'm not in there, brainless!"

He turns in surprise at the sound of my voice and smiles when he sees me. I recognize the smile—it's the smile Finnick wears whenever Annie leaves a room for whatever reason. An I-missed-you smile. Did Beetee miss me? My stupid stomach flutters more at the thought.

"So if you want a hug," I continue, grinning, "you better get over here. You know how I feel about walking."

Beetee comes over to me and I hug him. He hasn't been gone long—only a few days—but it _feels _like it's been a stinking month. I guess my brain's all out of whack.

"It's good to see you," he says when we finally pull apart. Damn, that was a long hug. Not that I mind.

"I know, right? I'm so wonderful," I say. I don't tell him it's good to see him too. It is, though. I just don't tell him that. As we go back to my room, I ask, "So, what happened to Katniss?"

Beetee sighs. "She got shot."

My eyes widen. "Like, with a gun?"

No, with a carton of milk. Why did I say that? That was just plain stupid. And I should know. I see stupid people all the time. And now I've become one. Great. I just hope Beetee doesn't think I'm stupid. No, I don't hope that because I don't care.

"Yes," he answers. "Don't worry; her armor didn't allow her to suffer too much damage. The bullet didn't even penetrate. The impact is what damaged her the most; she bruised a few ribs and had to have a splenectomy."

"A what?" Wow. That's the second stupid thing I've said in three minutes. I'm on a roll.

"She had to have her spleen taken out," he clarifies.

"Who are they going to cut open to give her a new one?" I ask. I'm not kidding. They'll probably have a line about ten miles long.

"Oh, that's not necessary," says Beetee. "You can live without your spleen. She'll be fine."

"That's good." I pause, suddenly curious. "Do _you _have one?"

"One what?"

"A spleen." Great. Now I'm discussing what internal organs he has. I'm really turning on the charm today.

Beetee doesn't seem to notice that my question was stupid and creepy. "As far as I know, yes," he replies. "I've never had surgery, so unless I was born without one, I suppose I have a spleen."

"I have one too," I say.

Beetee smiles again. "Well, good for you."

We're at the door. Suddenly I wish my room was farther from the bathroom. Beetee and I are just standing in front of each other, face to face, not really saying anything. It's an awkward silence. Our eyes meet; we're kind of just staring at each other, which is weird but in a really nice way. And I start thinking like a stupid teenage girl, _Is he going to kiss me...?_

Of course, he doesn't. Maybe he was thinking about it, but I'll never know because that's when his stupid communicuff starts beeping. He backs away and looks at it. "I have to go," he says. "Special Defense."

"Oh." I hate how disappointed I sound. Of course he has to go to Special Defense; his only free time is from six o'clock to seven o'clock. "Will you come see me later?" I ask. Great, now I sound hopeful. Stupid emotions.

"I'm not sure if I can," he says.

"Why not?" I demand. Ugh, why the hell do I care so much?

"Gale and I are working on some pretty big projects and we need to spend as much time on them as possible," he says. "I'm sorry."

I glare at him. "Hey," he says suddenly, as if he got an idea, "maybe you could come see me. You know, just sit on the workbench and talk. That's all we do anyway. If the doctors will allow you to."

I act aloof. "Okay. If you want." But on the inside, I'm jumping for joy. Damn. I have some serious problems.

"I'll see you then," says Beetee. After another awkward pause, he holds out his hand. I put my hand in his and he shakes it. "So, um...bye, then."

"Bye." I go back into the room. Closing the door, I lean against it and exhale slowly. I see that the curtain between the two beds is drawn; on the other side must be Katniss. I tiptoe toward her. Whereas they're depleting my supply of morphing, they're loading her up with the stuff. I pause to think. Well, she's not going to be having nightmares from being tortured because they fished _her _out of the arena, so I guess it's fair if I take some. Before I make myself at home, I grab my pillow and the journal the head doctor gave me—he isn't here, so I guess he took the opportunity to leave; believe me, I'm not complaining—and make a little spot next to Karnes's bed. Then I unhook her from the morphing drip and attach it to the little shunt in the crook of my arm. That must be why I'm so jittery. Withdrawal. That's all it is.

I turn to a clean page in the journal. At the top, I write _BEETEE _in all caps. Then I divide the rest of the page in half. I draw a plus sign above the first half for his positive traits or aspects and a minus above the second for his negative traits or aspects. Then I start writing. I fill in the negatives pretty quickly:

_45+_

_ Glasses don't fit right_

_ T__witchy_

_ Always busy_

_ Nerdy_

Then I start filling in the positives. Those take more time to come out, but they do:

_Smart—no stupid comments_

_ A nice person_

_ Likes me even though I can be a total bitch_

_ Helps people_

_ Sexy in a "your mother could get him __too" sort of way_

I put my pen down. Five and five. Damn. I impatiently detach myself from Katniss's morphling drip and hook her back up to it, shimmying over to my bed and flopping onto it. I look through my list again. Five good things about Beetee. Five positives about a potential relationship or whatever. And five bad things. Ugh, why am I even _thinking _about this? It's never going to happen. Never. I hook myself up to my own morphling drip and take a nap to ease my stinking brain.

When I wake up, I feel jittery and sick. I look at my morphling drip and discover why: I'm out. Damn. Time for bird-girl to serve her purpose. I unplug myself from my empty morphling drip and yank back the curtain separating my side of the room from Katniss's. Her eyes widen when she sees me; it must be my no-hair. Some has grown back, but it's just baby fuzz and not actually hair. I wish it'd grow in faster. Oh, well.

"I'm alive," Katniss whispers in shock.

I roll my eyes. "No kidding, brainless," I say. I plop down beside her and she winces in pain, making me smirk. "Still a little sore?" I mock. I simply unhook her from the morphling drip and attach it to my own arm. "They started cutting back my supply a few days ago," I explain. "Afraid I'm going to turn into one of those freaks from Six. I've had to borrow from you when the coast was clear. Didn't think you'd mind."

She has no right to mind, though, seeing as they got her from the arena and let the Capitol take me to hell. I think she knows that. I feel the jitteriness ebb and I sigh. "Maybe they were onto something in Six," I muse. "Drug yourself out and paint flowers on your body. Not such a bad life. Seemed happier than the rest of us, anyway. They've got this head doctor who comes around every day. Supposed to be helping me recover. Like some guy who's spent his life in this rabbit warren's going to fix me up," I scoff. "Complete idiot. At least twenty times a session he reminds me that I'm totally safe." Katniss smiles weakly. Despite my initial dislike, she probably understands where I'm coming from. It's nice to have friends. "How about you, Mockingjay?" I ask. "You feel totally safe?"

"Oh, yeah," Katniss answers, her voice heavy with irony. "Right up until I got shot."

"Please," I say. "That bullet never even touched you. Cinna saw to that."

Cinna was her stylist during both her trips to the Games. He was killed a few weeks back, I think. Helping with the rebellion or something like that. Poor dude.

"Broken ribs?" asks Katniss.

"Not even," I reply. "Bruised pretty good. The impact ruptured your spleen. They couldn't repair it." I wave her anxiety away with my hand. "Don't worry, you don't need one. And if you did, they'd find you one, wouldn't they? It's everybody's job to keep you alive." I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Katniss must notice it because her next question is, "Is that why you hate me?"

"Partly. Jealousy is certainly involved," I confess. "I also think you're a little hard to swallow. With your tacky romance drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn't an act, which makes you more unbearable." I pause. I think I'm getting a little too personal. "Please feel free to take this personally," I add.

"You should have been the Mockingjay," says Katniss. "No one would've had to feed you lines."

"True," I agree. "But no one likes me."

"They trusted you though," Katniss counters. "To get me out. And they're afraid of you."

"Here, maybe," I correct. "In the Capitol, you're the one they're scared of now." I look at the door and see Gale. "You're cousin's not afraid of me," I tell Katniss after reattaching her to her morphling drip. I slide off the bed and go to the door, hip-checking him as I pass. "Are you, gorgeous?"

I laugh on my way down the hall. It takes me a moment to realize where I'm going, but I decide on where soon enough. He _did _say I could come see him; now is as good a time as any.

I stop a passing doctor. "Hey, you," I say.

"Yes?"

I look around to make sure the coast is clear. "Do you know how to get to Special Defense?"

**Leave me a review, please! Do it for poor, confused Jo! **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: extensive discussion about sex in this chapter. I've been staying away from discussing it or swearing as much as I do in other stories, but it was needed in this chapter. :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

**Beetee Askeral**

Frustrated, I again sort through the stack of blueprints Gale left. The drawings are easy enough to understand, but his penmanship is so poor that I can't read any of his notes or formulae. I put the papers down and hold my head in my hands. I suppose I won't be getting any work done until he returns from visiting Katniss in the hospital.

A knock on the door makes me jump. I look toward it, expecting Gale, but I'm proven incorrect. It isn't Gale, but Johanna. I blink; I didn't expect her to come by so soon.

"Hi," I say in pleasant surprise.

She grins. "Hey," she replies.

Nervously, I adjust my glasses. I recall suddenly the hug we shared earlier; she felt so good in my arms, strong and supple, yet warm, soft, feminine. Distinctly Johanna. She's been in the hospital so much that her smell is tainted with the bitterness of ammonia, but her natural scent still overpowers it: pine needles and orange blossoms and saltwater. So pleasant. Maybe if she stays here long enough, the entire workroom will smell like that, and when she leaves, I can close my eyes and breathe her unique scent and pretend she's still here with me.

When I finally look up, Johanna is sitting across from me and is leaning across the worktable, her big eyes sparkling; I gulp, unspeakably anxious, and again fiddle with my glasses. My cheeks, ears, and neck are burning and are undoubtedly a bright shade of crimson. It'd be impossible for someone so perceptive not to notice. Damn. Speaking is suddenly a virtual impossibility. "Why, um, are you, um, here, Jo-Johanna?"

She laughs. "You said I could come visit you, Bee-Beetee," she replies, thus making my face blush darker. Johanna peers at the papers in my hand. "What's that?"

"I'm not sure. I can't read it," I admit. "Gale may be an excellent shot, but he really needs to work on his handwriting." This earns me another laugh, and I smile in triumph. "You sure are in a good mood," I say.

Johanna cocks her head. "As opposed to what?" she inquires. She smiles ironically. "The normal, bitchy me?"

I shake my head. "No," I say quietly. I release the illegible blueprints so that I can slide my hand up the table and place it over hers. She doesn't resist or retreat, and I take this as a good omen. "You just seem…happier than usual."

Again, Johanna grins. "Why shouldn't I be? Soon, they'll start picking soldiers to fight in the Capitol and I'll get to give them a taste of their own medicine." She removes her hand from mine to rub it with her other one. "I'm so thrilled."

I try to appear happy for her, although happiness is most certainly not what I feel upon hearing this news. Disappointment and worry would be more appropriate adjectives to describe the shift in my mood. I thought Johanna was simply happy that I had returned. Not only that, I don't want her going into combat. She'll have to leave, first of all, and the idea of her being gone is not a pleasant one for whatever reason. Second, fighting in war is the last place I want her to go. It wouldn't be safe. She could get hurt, maimed, killed…I want her here, in 13, where I can look after her and protect her. The worst part is that I know Johanna doesn't need protection. She's proven time and time again that she can more than take care of herself. But for some reason, I'm compelled to shelter her nonetheless.

"You okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine," I reply.

"Good." Johanna stretches out on the workbench, vanishing from my line of view. From under the table, I hear her say, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I say.

"How old are you?"

"How…what?" I'm taken aback by her question simply because it's so out of context. Johanna sits up again and rests her elbows on the table, watching me closely.

"You heard me," she says. "How old are you?"

I want to ask how this became our new topic of interest, but she doesn't like having her questions answered with questions, so I simply say, "Forty-nine."

"Forty-nine," she repeats. She pauses for a moment. "You're twenty-seven years older than me."

"So you're twenty-two?"

I mentally kick myself. Surely Johanna can figure that math out by herself. In response to my idiotic statement, she narrows her eyes and says, "No duh, brainless."

I wince. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she says aloofly, observing her hand. She runs her fingers through her hair; not all of it has grown back, but what hair she does have is almost an inch thick and covers the majority of her skull. "Do you have a girlfriend?" she then asks.

My heart starts pounding. "No," I say. "I don't."

"What about N—er, Wiress? A lot of people think you two were…well, you know. A thing."

"We weren't," I say. "She was like my sister."

"So she _wasn't _your lover or anything," she says.

"No." I sigh. "I miss her, though," I add as an afterthought.

"That sucks," says Johanna.

"It does," I agree.

She pauses. "Beetee," she says, "are you a virgin?"

Mortified, I gape at her. "No! Why would you ask that?"

Johanna shrugs. "Just wondering. So you've had sex before?"

"Y-yes," I stammer, my face scarlet. Suddenly, I'm curious. "Have…have you?"

"Yeah," she answers. "Tons of times."

"Oh." I try not to seem disappointed; part of me, for some reason, wanted her to say no. Also, the implications of her not being a virgin are worrisome. "Are you seeing someone?" I ask.

"Nope," she says. "I've never been able to get serious with anyone."

I remember how Finnick was forced into prostitution, and the sudden image of Johanna at the mercy of a Capitol man, being slandered and abused instead of handled with love the way she should be, makes my blood boil. "Did you have to…you know, the way Finnick did?"

"No," she replies. My shoulders sag in relief. "They tried to make me, but they couldn't."  
Her face clouds over. The implication that someone hurt her out of revenge for her refusal to sell herself stirs within me a desire to protect and shelter her, to keep anyone from hurting her ever again. "I guess you could call me a hoe," Johanna continues. "I mean, I've never really been serious with anyone, like I said. I've spent the past few years just sleeping around, really. Pretty stupid, considering how people like Finnick didn't have a choice to save themselves and I did."

"I don't think that," I say.

She smiles thinly before sighing. "I guess I thought that…if I had sex casually with guys, like I always have, and I didn't have to stick around the next morning, it meant I had more power than the dudes I had sex with. You know?"

Not for the first time, I'm struck by a wave of pity. "Why would you think that?" I ask softly.

To my slight surprise, Johanna grins and leans forward. "Because I've tried having sex with girls," she croons, "and I figured out it's no fun. Wanna know why?"

I just blink. Johanna doesn't wait for an answer and says, "Because there's no dick!" Then she starts laughing.

"That's, um…" I don't really know what to say. "Strange," I finally decide.

"Is it?" Johanna regards me curiously. "Come on, Beetee. Haven't you ever thought about doing it with another man?"

"No," I answer, "I haven't."

"Never?" She seems almost surprised. "Not even with Finnick?"

"No," I insist. "Not everyone has fantasized about sleeping with Finnick Odair."

"Everyone I know has," she says. "Except you."

I just roll my eyes. Johanna grins; I hear her kick off her shoe and I feel her foot on my knee. I tense up, overwhelmed by the sensation; she lightly traces the line of my leg with her toes and I bite my lip. "Finnick proposed to Annie," she says, bringing me back to reality.

I blink quickly. "W-what?"

"Finnick and Annie are getting married," she repeats.

"That's great," I say.

"Coin and Plutarch are having some scuffles over the details," she adds with a dismissive wave, "but as long as Finnick and Annie get hitched and are happy, I'm happy."

"And as long as you're happy, I'm happy," I reply, making her grin again.

Even with the arguments between Plutarch Heavensbee and President Coin over the details of the Odair wedding, within days, the couple is at a makeshift altar in the cafeteria and is saying their vows. About three hundred of 13's citizens are present, as well as a large group of refugees. Everyone begins cheering as soon as they are pronounced husband and wife and the exuberant couple kisses, thus sealing their union. Finnick slyly moves his lips to his bride's neck, and Annie bursts into embarrassed laughter; the guests laugh with her as Finnick picks her up and twirls her in a circle. They toast with apple cider, as 13 prohibits alcohol, and a refugee from 12 with a fiddle begins to play. The room is soon filled with the sound of happy, dancing feet; as I look over, I see Johanna urging Katniss to take part despite her ribs not being fully healed. When Katniss scurries off, presumably to find her little sister to partner with, Johanna sprints over to me and snatches my hands, tugging me with her to the dance floor.

"Dance with me, you big geek," she says.

How can I say no? We take our places in line, and despite my lack of coordination, Johanna and I dance. I can't keep her as my partner forever, though I'd like to, and soon she twirls off to dance with Dalton, a refugee from 10. I retreat to the side and find Gale there as well, clapping to the beat of the music; when he sees me, his eyebrows shift upward.

"Did someone spike your cider?" he asks.

In response, I continue my nervous yet delighted laughter. I feel giddy and lightheaded, like Annie. "No," I say.

"Then what gives? You never smile like that," says Gale.

I peer outward and see Dalton hand Johanna off to Finnick in exchange for the giggling bride. Johanna laughs in delight as Finnick spins her round and round; I have to lean against the wall to properly catch my breath, sighing happily.

"Hello? Earth to Beetee?"

"Hm?" I look back at Gale, struggling to come down from my high.

"Why are you so happy?" he says.

With my eyes closed, I bring Johanna's face to mind again. Big eyes. Devilish, exuberant grin. The sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She's bright, but dangerous, like a live wire, a kindled flame, a lit fuse. Every apsect of her being screams at me to stay away—not for her safety, but for mine. Maybe that's why I'm so inexplicably attracted to her. Finally, I answer Gale's question, sighing out the words in a breath of pure bliss. "I'm in love."

**Aww! :) Looks like the Odairs aren't the only ones who are lovestruck! Be sure to leave a review!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	7. Chapter 7

**Johanna Mason**

As soon as I reenter my stinking hospital room, I pick up my journal and throw it at the wall with an angry yell. Those bastards! After what the Capitol did to me, 13 has no right to bar me from going and kicking their stinking asses! It's not fair! I storm over to my journal and I see the pages I made to separate Beetee's good and bad qualities. After Finnick and Annie's wedding, I added a few more to both sides. On the positive, I wrote:

_Incredibly, incredibly sweet, but not in a rot-your-teeth-out way_

_Funny_

_Did I mention sexy? _

I only have to add one on the negatives:

_Clumsy_

That's it. Clumsy. And since I am too, that's not too big a deal. Now it's eight to five in Beetee's favor. What am I supposed to do about that? Ugh, why can't he be a stupid jerk like pretty much every other guy I know and make this easier? I shove the stinking book in a drawer and am about ready to tear what little hair I have out when Katniss comes in. Apparently, they don't want her to go to the Capitol either, but Coin has proposed a deal: if Katniss trains, she may qualify as a soldier. "Maybe you can train, too," she tells me.

I exhale angrily. "Fine," I say. "I'll train. But I'm going to the stinking Capitol even if I have to kill a crew and fly there myself."

Katniss smiles. "Probably best not to bring that up in training. But it's nice to know I'll have a ride."

I grin at her. Hm. I guess bird-girl isn't that bad. Training also isn't that bad.

It's worse.

We have to get up at seven-thirty in the stinking morning, first off. I'm used to sleeping in, so this is hell. And that's _before _I realize they've put Katniss and me in a group of kids to train. That's humiliating enough, but then we realize that all the stupid kids are in better shape than us. After we stretch and stuff, we do a five-mile run, and Katniss and I are bringing up the rear. I try to tell myself I'm only going slowly so that Katniss, with her bruised ribs, doesn't feel left out, but I'm not as fast as I used to be. I ignore the pain in my chest and legs by yelling at Katniss to keep moving.

"Come on, bird-girl!" I scream, kicking her in the back of the shin. "Get your butt in gear or I'll put it in gear for you! And trust me, you do _not _want that to happen! Let's go!"

She still quits after just one mile and goes to Soldier York, our trainer. I hear her mention her ribs, and she's sent off to the hospital. Lucky her. I, meanwhile, spend the rest of the morning running until I'm about ready to collapse. We spend the afternoon on the shooting range, and after that, guess what? A two-mile cooldown run. I bail after just ten feet and sit against a tree, glaring at every stinking kid who catches my eye.

When I return to my room, I find a nasty surprise. Katniss's morphling drip is gone. It turns out the drug and whatever they used to fix her ribs—it's apparently nasty stuff from her expression—can't be mixed, and since they don't know I've been using it, they took it away.

"I'm sorry," says Katniss. She looks it, too. "I really am."

"It's okay," I tell her. "It had to happen sometime, anyway. It's about time I quit cold turkey."

And for the first few hours, I do okay. I mainly write in the stupid journal the head doctor gave me to pass the time; though I hate that he was right about something, writing actually _does _help a little. It's only when I realize everything I write is about Beetee and I can't stop thinking about him and I've stopped actually writing and am sketching our initials in a stinking _heart _in the corner of a page that I throw the stupid thing across the room, and as soon as my attention diverts to my lack of morphling, it's all I can think about. Jittery. Sluggish. Sick. Do not think about Beetee. Cuss out Katniss instead. Yeah, that's a better thing to do. Neither of us sleeps, and when it's time to go to training, I have to drag Katniss out of bed.

"I don't think I can do it," she admits.

"You can do it," I snap. "We both can. We're victors, remember? We're the ones who can survive anything they tthrow at us."

I'm singing a different tune by the time we get outside and it's pouring down rain. I can't go out there. But Katniss insists that it'll be okay, and I shove my fear aside and storm out into the mud. Once again, Katniss bails out after a mile; every inch of me hurts, but I don't quit because then I'll start thinking about what happened in the Capitol and go nuts or something.

The rest of the day isn't much better. I puke up my lunch when noon comes around. I can't put my stinking rifle together because my hands are shaking so much come afternoon. Katniss helps me out. Shooting is okay, but I miss the target repeatedly because I'm trembling like a sapling. Bird-girl, of course, gets the best score in the class by the time we're done.

We reenter the hospital, and that's when it hits me. "This has to stop," I say. "Us living in the hospital. Everyone views us as patients."

Katniss can just move in with her family, but for me, it's not that simple. They won't let me live alone. Finally, bird-girl pipes up, and what she says shocks me. "She won't be alone," she says. "I'm going to room with her."

And despite a few objections, they let her. By bedtime, we're across the hall from Katniss's mother and sister in our own cozy little compartment.

Katniss takes herself a shower; I find a washcloth and sit in the empty bathtub wiping myself with it. I poke around, and then I find the drawer of Katniss's belongings. I shut it immediately. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she says. "You can look at my stuff if you want."

I do so, peering at a locket with Gale, her little sister, and her mother's faces in it. Pretty. I realize that I don't really have anything to call my own anymore; even the stupid journal comes from the head doctor. The lonely feeling isn't one I like. I keep looking. I find the parachute with the spile from the Quell, and I stick it on my little finger. "Makes me thirsty just looking at it," I muse. And then I find a pearl that Peeta gave Katniss in the Quell. Before he went crazy. "Is this—?"

"Yeah. Made it through somehow," she says.

I can see that she doesn't want to talk about Peeta. Can't really blame her. "Haymitch says he's getting better," I say in an attempt to cheer her.

"Maybe," she replies. "But he's changed."

"So have you," I say. "So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee." _Definitely _Beetee. "Don't get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena messed us all up pretty good, don't you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?"

"No," she says.

"That's the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about. There's no going back," I explain. "So we might as well get on with things." I replace her belongings and get into bed. "You're not afraid I'll kill you tonight?" I ask her.

"Like I couldn't take you," she says.

We laugh together like sisters, and I feel all warm and fuzzy. Hm. Bird-girl is definitely alright, then.

The next few weeks are actually bearable. Katniss and I get moved into another class, which thirlls us both; it means wer're finally being taken seriously. The schedule that gets tattooed on my forearm every morning calls it S.S.C.—also known as Simulated Street Combat—but the soldiers just call it the Block. It's a Capitol street built underground. We're in groups of eight and we fight as if we're in real war, and bird-girl and I do really well. When they gas us, we're the only ones who put our masks on in time; I'd laugh at the rest of our squad who's out cold if it weren't for the headache I got for breathing in some of the gas.

Me, Katniss, Finnick, and Gale are all filmed on the firing range. Peeta even joins us, but bird-girl tells me that it's only for the cameras. She's moody when she tells me this, and I know why; they want a happy little reunion scene of the two of them, but that's not possible because they _aren't _happy. Not for the first time, I sympathize with her.

Everything is going really well. The only downside is that I don't get to spend as much time with Beetee. I manage to get down to Special Defense at least twice a week, though, and I happily tell him about how well bird-girl are doing in training. He always smiles, nods, and praises me for my hard work, but something isn't right. He doesn't seem really happy. His smiles almost seem forced; I can tell because of how different they are from his real smiles. I hate worrying him, but since I can't figure out what's bothering him and he isn't talking, I just brush it off.

Soon, York recommends Katniss and me for the exam, and we're so thrilled we almost start shrieking like teenage girls. It's four parts: an obstacle course, a written exam, a test of weapons proficiency, and a simulated combat session in the Block. It's on the same day, so I hardly have time to fly into Special Defense to tell Beetee, where I change from nervous to excited to terrified about fifty different times until he grabs me by the shoulders and insists that I'll do fine. We're very close, and I remember the day he came back from 2 when I thought he was going to kiss me, and I'm wondering if now would be the perfect time when he goes back to his worktable. I guess I'll get my kiss when I pass, then. This is proven incorrect, however, because when the time comes for me to leave, Beetee quickly presses his lips against my cheek and ushers me out so that I'm not late. Okay, so it wasn't a lips-to-lips kiss, but it's certainly enough to breeze me through the first three parts of the test and enough to have me humming like a schoolgirl while I wait in line for my session in the Block. I go before Katniss, and she nods encouragingly as I practically skip to the Block. Note to self: skipping will not get me taken seriously.

The session is pretty easy; I shoot some Peacekeepers as they come and obey everything the squadron leader says. I'm already thinking about what Beetee's voice will sound like when he starts adressing me as "Soldier Mason"—sounds kind of sexy in my head, actually—when I hear a strange sound, one that makes me tense up. Gushing water.

Suddenly, I remember what that boy said earlier about our Block sessions being designed to target each potential soldier's weaknesses. My hands are shaking so badly that I drop my gun. I don't even have to look to see what they've done. I already know.

When I feel the flood yank me underwater, all I see is the face of a man with a white mask.

**Gasp! Well, we all knew that'd happen. How will Beetee react? Leave a review, please!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	8. Chapter 8

**Beetee Askeral**

_Of all the pains, the greatest pain is to love, but love in vain._

I read this quote in a contraband book years ago, and sadly, it's begun to pertain to my relationship with Johanna. The joy I felt at the revelation that I loved her has faded, leaving nothing but the bone-crushing reality that Johanna Mason could never, ever feel the same way about me. I'm almost thirty years her senior. The bond we've developed over the past few weeks probably doesn't seem at all significant to her; to her, to Johanna, I am only Volts, not a man she could love as an equal.

The healthiest thing to do would be to abandon my one-sided attraction for her and move on, find another woman to love, perhaps a woman closer to me in age. But this isn't easy simply because of how unbelievably special Johanna is. While working in Special Defense—alone, as of late, because Gale has been training and is preparing to go fight in the Capitol—I'll find myself completely neglecting whatever I'm working on and instead thinking about her. I'll start sketching her name on blueprints and ruin eraser after eraser destroying the evidence. I'll count the freckles on her nose while she's talking to me and struggle to return to the conversation. I simply can't get her out of my mind; to use Gale's terminology, I'm completely loopy with love. Forgetting about Johanna isn't an option.

That being said, I can't describe the pain that attacks me whenever she speaks about going to the Capitol as part of the rebel army. I don't want Johanna in combat. Living without her has suddenly become a fate worse than death. I know that I can't tell her, though, and I know that Johanna wants and probably needs to do this, so I don't bring it up in conversation and pretend to be happy for her. On the day of her exam, I wish her luck, tell her she'll do fine—which she undoubtedly will—and kiss her cheek as my sad, pathetic way of telling her goodbye. I'd kiss her on the lips, but I'm too shy to do that; besides, it'd give me away. And when I see how much happier she was upon leaving after receiving my encouragement, it takes everything within me not to burst into tears.

I'm working on a new schematic for an explosive parachute Gale and I came up with and have intricately sketched Johanna's name in the upper left-hand corner when Plutarch Heavensbee knocks on the door. I quickly crumple the paper in my fist and toss it in the trashcan before regarding the former Head Gamemaker in askance. He seems uncomfortable. "There's something you should know," he says.

"What?"

Plutarch sighs. "Johanna is in the hospital."

"What?!" This time, the word is not spoken in askance but in alarm; I'm on my feet, staring wide-eyed at him. "What do you mean, in the hospital? What happened? Is she hurt?"

I don't care how suspicious my anxiety must seem. Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure why I was notified of Johanna's being in the hospital when my love for her is between me and Gale; surely he didn't tell Plutarch of all people. I suppose Plutarch only told me because he knows of our friendship.

"She's not hurt," he says, "but she's under sedation. You see, she had some kind of psychological meltdown while completing her Simulated Street Combat session of her exam."

"What do you mean?"

"The session is designed to target each individual's weaknesses," says Plutarch, "and they decided that the best way to do that for Johanna would be to flood the street."

I'm still confused. Johanna can swim—I saw her during the Quell. Plutarch must notice my perplexity because he says, "Didn't Johanna tell you how she was tortured in the Capitol?"

"No." I never asked. There was never a polite way to bring it up in conversation and I didn't want to bring up any unpleasant memories.

"She was soaked in water and then electrocuted," says Plutarch. "She had a flashback of it during her exam."

Suddenly, I want to take whoever flooded that street and snap their neck for doing that to her. The intensity of the feeling shocks me, but I manage to brush it aside. "Can I go see her?"

"By all means," answers Plutarch.

I practically run to the hospital, hoping to find Johanna awake, but the immense amount of sedatives the doctors have put into her have succeeded in knocking her unconscious. I pray the drugs keeping her asleep aren't forcing her to relive being tortured in the Capitol. The doctor seems to respect my need to see Johanna alone because he closes the door behind me as I pull up a chair, resting my palm against her cheek. Her skin is warm, and despite my touch, Johanna's eyes stay closed and she continues to breathe deeply. "Johanna?" I whisper. I trace the line of her cheekbone with my thumb. "I'm so sorry they did this to you," I tell her, knowing she probably can't hear me. "I'm so sorry, Johanna, so sorry. I...I didn't want you to do it, Johanna. This is why; I was afraid something like this would happen. But I didn't say anything because I knew that you wanted to do it and that I couldn't stop you." I clasp her hand in mine and bring it to my lips, kissing each of her fingertips. Still, Johanna sleeps on and on. "But think of it this way," I continue. "You get to stay here in Thirteen with me now. I know that that doesn't sound very appealing to you, but it does to me. I like spending time with you because..."

I don't finish. Can I tell her? She's unconscious; surely she won't hear me. If she does, she may just think it as part of her dream. And I'm dying to tell her, whether or not she responds; she has to know, even if she doesn't remember. That will ease my troubled mind, if only a little bit. I check to make sure to the coast is clear. Then I slide my chair as close to her bedside as possible and rest my arms on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep. Her face is peaceful; I hope the drugs are giving her pleasant dreams. I can't keep from hoping I'm in them, but I know I won't be. As a human, I'm incapable of using logic when it comes to emotions, especially one so powerful as true love. I watch her face while I gather my courage. And then, I lean forward and gently brush her lips with mine, something I've always wanted to do. My kiss is so soft that she probably doesn't feel it. It doesn't matter, though; I can feel it, and for now, that'll be enough. I bring my lips to her ear, and when I speak, I'm only able to whisper. My heart is pounding wildly, and I pour the feelings it contains into her unconscious mind to hopefully ease my own. "I love you, Johanna Mason."

She sleeps on and on and on.

I kiss her again before replacing the chair and leaving the room. Then, ignoring the strange looks I get, I run back to Special Defense as quickly as I can; once there, I lock the door of my workroom and make a space for my head on the worktable, where I then fold my arms, bury my face in them, and cry until I run out of tears.

The doctors continuing pouring sedatives into Johanna, so when I finally muster the courage to visit her again, she's still unconscious. This time, however, I simply pretend that she's conscious and discuss with her trivial things: what I'm working on in Special Defense, how Finnick and Katniss—who have been appointed to a sharpshooters' unit known as Squad 451, or the Star Squad—are doing, how it isn't her fault that she isn't with them. I don't release her hand until I absolutely have to. When I leave, I kiss her forehead, smooth her hair away from her face, and whisper that I love her and that I'll return as soon as I can. This pattern continues for the next few days; whenever I have free time, I go to the hospital. I ask when they'll wean her off the sedatives. Because of the extent of her meltdown, the doctors want her under observation for a few more days. I talk to her as if she were able to respond. I end each of our meetings with a kiss and the words "I love you." Maybe, maybe, she'll hear them from wherever her mind is at the moment and will be awake the next time I see her; maybe she'll be waiting for me so that she can tell me that she feels the same. It is this optimism that gets me through everything, now, and this optimism alone. But I still can't ignore the cruel, cruel words I read so long ago: _Of all the pains, the greatest pain is to love, but love in vain._

I wish above everything else that they weren't true, that somehow, Johanna could make them untrue, but of course, nothing like that happens. I'm left with nothing but my crushed dreams once more.

**I know this chapter was a bit on the short side, and the next one will be as well, but then we'll go back to the regular length. And aww, Beetee needs a snuggly hug. :P Review, please! And by the way, the person Beetee is quoting is Abraham Crowley, I believe.**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	9. Chapter 9

**Johanna Mason**

_ "Shut up, Peeta," I whisper, pleading, but he can't hear me over the agonized sound of his own screaming. Surely they've figured out he doesn't know anything. Why are they torturing him, then? Just keeping him here is enough—it's not like they're sending Katniss tapes of him screaming. Then again, they might be._

_ Peeta's screams choke off, and for a second, I'm scared he's dead, but then I hear his cell door open and a large thud. So he's still alive, just unconscious. I press myself into the very corner of my own cell, wrapping my arms around my knees, shivering; it's late summer, but they keep it very cold here, and all I have on is the white paper gown they gave me to cover my nudity. No underwear. I don't know where my other clothes went. I curl into a protective ball, my head tucked between my knees, and try to conserve my body heat. I've lost so much weight that this is next to impossible. I'd love nothing more than a blanket, but I'm not so weak as to ask for one. I'll make do. I'll survive. I always do._

_ Another cell door opens, and I look up to see one of the men storming in. I can't see his face because of the white mask he uses to conceal his features. My shivering gets worse, but I neither resist nor retreat when he picks me up and throws my over his shoulder like a sack of lumber. I'm carried off to another room. I know exactly where they're taking me. What they call the interrogation room. What I call the torture chamber._

_ Finnick, Katniss, Peeta, Volts, Plutarch, Haymitch, Father, someone help me, someone stop them, don't let them hurt me again, please don't, I want to go home, please make them let me go home..._

_ Another door opens. My paper gown is ripped away and I'm thrown naked into a huge bathtub of icy water. My flesh erupts in goosebumps and my teeth are chattering like crazy. I want to go home, I want to go home..._

_ "Where is Katniss Everdeen?" asks one of the men._

_ I don't answer. Someone shoves two pieces of metal into me, one into my stomach, the other into one of my breasts, and they turn it on. Electricity crackles through the air like lightning and I am on fire. Excruciating, ripping, burning agony. I scream. They don't stop; they do it again, shoving the metal pieces into different parts of me this time. They do it again, and again, and again..._

I waken, startled, and I must be screaming in real life as well because a doctor runs in, does some things to the liquid in a bag by my bed, and I go back under. This time, my dream is different...

_I lie on my back, sleepy, content, my eyes closed. Someone puts their hand on my face—not roughly, but gently, like a lover would. I hear a voice, like it's coming from far, far away. __"I'm so sorry, Johanna, so sorry.__ I...I didn't want you to do it, Johanna. This is why; I was afraid something like this would happen..."_

_ Beetee. That's his voice. What's he talking about? Oh, right; the session in the Block. The flood. The memories. He didn't want me to take the exam in the first place? Why didn't he say so?_

_ I know why. Because I would have taken it anyway, that's why; because when push came to shove, I wouldn't give a flying flip what he wanted. I had to go to the Capitol. But I can't now. I'm stuck here. Great._

_ Beetee's speaking again. "I didn't say anything because I knew that you wanted to do it and that I couldn't stop you. But think of it this way. You get to stay here in Thirteen with me now. I know that that doesn't sound very appealing to you, but it does to me. I like spending time with you because..."_

_ Because why? Why can't he finish? Why does he like spending time with me? Why would anyone? I feel soft lips touch my own, lightly, again, like a lover would. Was that him? Why would he kiss me? Why do I care? I shouldn't; this is a dream, just another dream. It's not really happening. But why would I dream about it? Is it because of the drugs? It must be._

_ What I hear next certainly testifies that I'm just having crazy dreams because of the drugs. "I love you, Johanna Mason."_

_ Beetee..._

_ He doesn't love me. He can't. No one loves me, not like that. Me and love don't mix. Everyone I love gets hurt. Besides, he's too old for me. He probably just sees me as some kind of daughter or something, and that's how it'll stay. It doesn't matter what I feel..._

_ No. Stop that. I don't feel anything for him. Not like that. Letting myself fall in love opens a door to a whole mess of problems and potential weaknesses. I can't have weaknesses. Not anymore._

_ "I love you, Johanna Mason..."_

_ I replay those five words over and over and over again, relishing in their sound, and for a while, I pretend not to care that I only dreamt them up. I pretend that they're real. And I pretend that I actually have the courage to tell him that I feel the same way..._

Again, my eyes open. I'm not screaming this time. I sit up, woozy, but otherwise normal. No one is in here but me, and I'm struck inexplicably with sadness. Of course I was dreaming. Beetee wouldn't be just sitting by my bed in my stinking hospital room. He's probably busy with something. I sigh and lean against the pillows, struggling to hide my disappointment.

I hear a toilet flush in the distance. Must be one of the doctors. Doctors have to pee too. I wince at the sound of gushing water, knowing it's just from the sink. Whoever went to the bathroom is just washing their hands. I peer around the room, blinking, and then the door opens.

"Johanna!" Beetee hurries into the room and sits on the bed beside me, and to my utmost surprise, he wraps his arms around me and hugs me against him. "Johanna," he says again, his voice muffled by my head, "I am so, so sorry I let this happen to you. But everything will be okay now. I promise. No one will ever hurt you again."

How many promises like this have I heard that have been broken? Many, many. But for some reason, I believe him. And it suddenly occurs to me that I'm being held. I've never been held. Maybe when I was a little kid or something, but not recently. I had no reason to be held; I'm tough-as-nails Johanna Mason, for crying out loud. I shouldn't need to be held. But as I press my cheek against the muscle that attaches Beetee's neck to his shoulder, as I breathe in his scent and relax in his arms, sighing contentedly, I decide to shove that notion aside. Being held is nice. Beetee's good at holding me—I should change that to holding _people_, but I like to think he's only good at holding me. I try to appear aloof, as if this doesn't really matter, but I'm unable to keep the lovesick smile off my face as I make a mental note to put this feeling in my brain's long-time storage so that I never, ever forget.

_"I love you, Johanna Mason."_

Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I wasn't. But either way, I think I love him, too.

**Aww…I told you it'd be on the short side, but I think I made my point. Next chapter will be longer. :) **


	10. Chapter 10

**Beetee Askeral**

Over the next few days, I watch Johanna anxiously, worried as to whether she heard the professions I whispered in her ear while she slept. Her behavior testifies against it; she acts the same as she always does. Part of me is saddened by this, but another part is relieved; maybe this is a sign that, despite my senseless yearnings, Johanna and I are not meant to be. Perhaps it's better that way.

Our relationship now is similar to our relationship shortly after her retrieval from the Capitol; the doctors want her under observation, so she has to stay in the hospital. I visit her for that precious hour every single day and give any news heard about Squad 451. She still seems sore about not being able to take part in ending this war, but I assure her that it isn't her fault and that no one sees her as weak for not being able to complete her exam. Annie also comes to see Johanna as often as possible; because her schedule is more lenient than mine, Annie is here for almost the entire day. I'm glad that Johanna isn't spending her days alone, but I can't help but wish Annie could take the hint that I'd like to be alone with Johanna during the hour of six. I try to tell myself that this doesn't matter—there isn't and never will be anything between us—but I can't help wishing I could have her to myself for some time. I often look to see if Johanna minds that Annie invades what used to be our private meetings, but she obviously doesn't. I try not to feel too dejected by this.

A few days after the exam, I walk into Johanna's room to find her extremely disgruntled. Annie explains that Johanna tried to discharge herself from the hospital and that her doctors insist that she isn't ready. Annie has tried to convince the doctors to let Johanna live with her, but seeing as Annie isn't taking Finnick's leaving too well, the doctors are understandably reluctant. "It's not fair," Johanna snaps. "I'm not crazy! Why can't I get out of this rabbit warren already?"

I try to reason with her without starting an argument. "I'm sure they're only thinking about what's best for you, Johanna. Maybe they'll have changed their minds by tomorrow."

"I don't want to wait until tomorrow," she retorts. "I want out of here _now _or someone is losing a limb!"

Annie starts humming frantically and sashays to the opposite side of the room. I, however, seize Johanna's hand and say, "I'll try to talk to them and see if they'll change their minds."

She huffs, softening some. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." I squeeze her hand before leaving to do just that.

Apparently, though, insisting on Johanna's discharge is not as easy as it sounds. The doctors will not relent. "Miss Mason is not stable enough to be on her own," one says.

"She isn't going to get well unless she's given a bit more freedom," I reason.

"Freedom has to be earned," another counters. "And Miss Mason hasn't earned it."

"What if she had a roommate?" I ask.

"Mrs. Odair is not suitable," the first says.

"I'm not talking about Annie," I say. An idea formulates in my brain. "I'm talking about me."

The doctors blink. "You?"

"Yes. Johanna and I are friends. You can trust me to look after her," I say. They seem suspicious. "I'll bring her here daily to be examined and so that she can speak with her psychiatrist," I add. "I'll take care of her. I promise."

They sigh in unison; every movement they make seems synchronized. "You won't need to assign us a new compartment. She can move in with me," I continue. I lower my voice. "I…I really care about her. I want to help her. I do."

Again, the pair of doctors sighs. "Will Miss Mason be alright with that?" the first asks.

I pause to think. "Yes," I say finally. Johanna wants to be let out of here, and we're friends; she won't mind. "She'll be fine with it."

"I'll go write the request for her discharge, then," says the second.

I beam, imagining how pleased she'll be, and return to Johanna's hospital room. "Johanna?" I say, poking my head in.

"Come in," she says, still seeming moody.

I'm smiling when I sit beside her on the bed, and I recall what it felt like when she let me hold her the other day. When she proved to me that she isn't always so strong, that she can be vulnerable and needy as well. Knowing that she trusts me enough to show that side of her fills me with a happiness that is almost overwhelming in its intensity. I peer around, and I realize that Annie is no longer here. "Annie had to leave," says Johanna in response to my perplexity. "Doctors' orders that she not miss curfew even though it isn't for another hour or so."

"I have good news," I say.

She scoffs. "Unless it's that I'm getting let out—"

"It is," I interrupt.

Her eyes light up. "Really?"

"Really," I say. "I talked with two of your doctors and he's writing the request for your discharge as we speak."

Johanna throws her arms around my neck, succeeding in turning my face scarlet. "You are a _lifesaver_," she says happily. She gets out of bed and retrieves her clothing; I make to leave the room so that she can get dressed, but Johanna just tells me to turn around, so I obey, shivering at the sound of her hospital pajamas hitting the floor. The revelation that she's completely naked behind me is one that makes my face burn brighter. A wicked thought then comes to mind—turning around and sneak a look at her while she's dressing. No, I can't do that; that would be rude. But surely one peek wouldn't be noticed…

"Beetee," says Johanna, tapping my shoulder, "let's go."

I turn to her and realize she's dressed now. Damn. I missed my chance. I shake my head to eradicate those thoughts and we leave the hospital room; Johanna clutches only a small book and a bandage with a few pine needles poking out. "What's that?" I ask her.

Johanna thrusts the book at me and brings the bundle to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Bird-girl made it for me," she says. At my questioning look, she says, "Katniss. It was after the exam." She seems uncomfortable with the topic, so I let her be as she continues breathing the fragrance of pine from the bundle Katniss made her. As we exit the hospital, Johanna says, "So, why'd they let me out?"

"Hm?"

"The doctors," she clarifies, putting her bundle down so that she can speak clearly. "Why'd the let me out?"

"They agreed to do so only if you had a roommate," I tell her, shifting my weight uncomfortably.

"I thought Annie was too 'unstable,'" says Johanna, rolling her eyes. I bite my lip.

"I know," I say. "But they did think that another roommate was suitable enough."

"Ugh, they paired me with a stranger?"

"Not a stranger." I nervously rub the back of my neck. "Um, I, um…they said you could live with me. If that's okay," I add quickly.

Johanna just raises her eyebrows a little. "Okay. Where do you live?"

"Compartment One-Thirty-Four," I reply. "Are…are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Anything's better than the stinking hospital," she says.

As we stroll through 13 to reach my compartment, Johanna begins humming to herself and idly laces her fingers through mine; I freeze at the touch, but I continue moving as she tugs me along, swinging our entwined hands to and fro. The walk to my compartment is too short for my liking, and soon, I'm unlocking the door and leading Johanna inside. She puts her things in an empty drawer; when we reach the bedroom, we both pause for a moment. It's as if we both realize just how small and intimate the space we're sharing is. Not only that, I don't have an extra bed. Johanna points this out to me.

"I can sleep on the floor," I say.

She shakes her head. "That's not what I meant. Don't be stupid. It's big enough to share."

We take turns in the bathroom—I shower, and Johanna very carefully washes herself with a damp towel and soap—and the lights turn off automatically at promptly eight-thirty, like always. I'm glad that it's dark so that Johanna can't see my shaking hands.

I hear her pull back the blanket and get into bed; when I hesitate, she says, "Well, get in, you big geek."

I do so, trying to give her space, but she immediately slides her body close to mine and snuggles against my chest. "Well, this is cozy," she muses, casually draping one of her legs over mine.

_Cozy_ is not the word I would use to describe this situation. _Nerve-racking_ would be more appropriate. The feel of Johanna so close is like a potent drug. I'm aware of nothing but her. "S-sure," I stammer. I'm worried she can either hear or feel the frantic galloping of my heart.

"Goodnight," she says, closing her eyes.

We're so close that I need only incline my head slightly to kiss her forehead. "Goodnight," I whisper.

With her eyes closed, Johanna's intense, guarded, ferocious expression fades, leaving nothing but the little shadows her eyelashes create on her cheekbones and the freckles on her nose and the small smile on her mouth. So beautiful. How I wish she were mine. Thinking she's asleep, I gently press another kiss between her eyes. Two more are placed over each eyelid. Finally, I lightly brush my lips over hers. I'm about to turn over so that I can hopefully get some sleep of my own when Johanna takes me by surprise; she suddenly presses her mouth feverishly against mine and twines her fingers in my hair. I gasp, stunned, and manage to choke out an apology, but Johanna wants to hear nothing of it.

"Don't apologize, brainless," she whispers huskily. "Just shut up and kiss me again."

"Jo—" She cuts me off with another burning kiss; this time, her lips swiftly travel from my mouth to my jaw, and again, I gasp. I'm unable to process what is happening and am drowning in sensation; the feeling isn't entirely unpleasant. "Johanna," I finally manage, "stop—don't—not unless you—you want to—"

Again, she interrupts me with yet another kiss. "You talk too much, you big geek," she murmurs. "Just shut up and let it happen."

Her big eyes drink me in and swallow me whole. Not for the first time, I'm overtaken by the urge to run as far away from her as possible for my own safety. Resisting the temptation, however, and staying with her despite the danger she presents, is a feeling almost unbearable in its intensity. Am I ready for this? Not really. Do I want this? Absolutely. So I take Johanna's advice and shut off everything else, everything but feelings and responses, and hope with everything within me that I'll wake up tomorrow morning after what I hope is the beginning of a committed relationship; I hope with everything within me that I'll wake up tomorrow morning with a lover in my arms.

"_**You push me**_

_**I don't have the strength to**_

_**Resist or control you**_

_**So take me down**_

_**Take me down**_

_**You hurt me**_

_**Or do I deserve this?**_

_**You make me so nervous**_

_**Calm me down**_

_**Calm me down..."**_

—**from Maroon 5's "Never Gonna Leave This Bed"**

**The preceding is an excerpt for one of my favorite songs that will probably go on the soundtrack for this story, which I should get around to making. :) It'll be up with next chapter. I hope you enjoyed this, and because this is a rated T story and I can't go into detail with the sex, our next chapter will be the morning after in Jo's point of view! Get excited!**

**Oh, and this chapter wasn't posted this morning like I wanted it to be. THANKS, OBAMA. (Please note that that was not at all a slander directed toward President Obama and was instead inspired by the latest Jenna Marbles video that was inspired from the multiple "Thanks, Obama" GIFs. Be sure to check them both out—they're hilarious.)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	11. Chapter 11

**Now, I said that the soundtrack for this story would be posted with this chapter, but I'm lazy, so instead, I want you, my loyal readers, to suggest songs to put on a Beejo soundtrack. :) Be creative! ^.^ And thank you in advance! If I use your song, I'll be sure to mention you.**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

**Johanna Mason**

My brain is complete mush when I wake up the next morning. It isn't the only thing; all of my limbs have also turned to pudding. I feel like a jellyfish; as I mull it over, I realize that it isn't entirely unpleasant. Kind of nice in a really weird way.

I peer at my bedside table and see a pair of glasses. Glasses? What gives? I don't wear glasses. I suddenly remember who _does _wear glasses, though—the man lying behind me with his arms wound around my waist and his face buried in my mostly-grown-back hair. Beetee. My consciousness drowns in a flood of memories from the night, but unlike the flood during my exam, I feel nothing but giddiness when I submerge in this tidal wave. Beetee sleeps soundly, his breath tickling my ear as he dozes; the sensation is unfamiliar, but again, I like it. Every little quirk about him just makes me love him more. And because he's such a weird person, that means that I must love him a whole lot.

As we continue to lie together, however, and Beetee begins gently nuzzling the back of my neck—again, weird, but really nice—anxiety seeps through the layers of hormone-induced bliss muddling my brain. I know just from the way he's holding me that Beetee doesn't consider this a one-night stand. Absolutely not. And to be honest, I didn't go into this to abandon him like I do everyone else come morning. I want him. It isn't just a sexual want, though—not at all. I don't just want good sex or great sex or even scream-my-head-off sex. I want...I don't know, a _relationship_. I want living together and arguing about stupid stuff and holding hands in the hallway and cuddling and all that other stinking stuff that comes with a relationship. Nothing else I can think of sounds better. But here's the kicker; I don't know if I'm ready for that. I don't know if I'll _ever _be ready for something of that caliber. I'm not ready for the commitment, and I may _never _be ready just because I'm me. I've never wanted anything like romance; even when I was a little kid, I never had a boyfriend or anything. A romantic relationship with Beetee—with anyone, for that matter—is uncharted waters. Dangerous.

Maybe I'm wrong about what Beetee wants. Maybe he _did _intend for this to be a one-night-only kind of deal. Maybe that's what he thought _I _intended. If we forget this ever happened, can we just go back to the way things were instead of making everything so stinking complicated? I don't think so. All I know is that I want a relationship and he probably wants a relationship and he may be ready but I'm sure as hell not and may never be. I need time to think, away from him, in the privacy of somewhere no one can find me. To make a long story short, it's about time I hightail it out of here.

I think Beetee's still sleeping, so I peel away his arms and slip out of bed, fumbling for my clothes in the semi-darkness. I'm clasping my bra when Beetee starts to stir. Damn. This wasn't my plan, for him to wake up and see me leaving. I meant to leave him a note telling him I need to think and agreeing to see and speak to him again when I've had that time. I hadn't meant for him to wake up and wonder what I'm doing or why I did what I did last night and everything else. Despite how very much I wanted it, I hadn't meant for any of this to happen. Not really.

"Johanna?" Beetee murmurs. He props himself up on an elbow and reaches for his glasses, his fingers groping the table blindly; when he finds them, he puts them on and blinks at the sight of me dressing. "What's wrong?" he asks, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips under his glasses and trying to wake up some. "Where are you going?"

"I..." Damn. I don't know how to answer. I pull on my pants and button my shirt up. "I just need some time to...to think," I say.

Beetee blinks again. "Think?" He sits up. "Think about what?"

"About..." I sigh. "You know, us. Sort of. I'm just kind of confused right now. It's not your fault," I add quickly when I see him wince. "It's not. I'm just confused, that's all. I just need some time alone to kind of mull this over."

He still seems a bit hurt, but he just nods and throws back the blanket, retrieving his own clothes and putting them back on. I'm already dressed, so I sit by him as he pulls up his zipper and ask, "You okay?"

"Fine," he says. I hand him his shirt and even help him with his buttons. His eyes meet mine. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Helping," I say, trying to smile.

"Okay, then." Beetee finishes buttoning his shirt and starts looking for his socks; I find mine much more quickly and don them before pulling on my shoes and lacing them effortlessly. "Are, um…are you okay, Johanna?" asks Beetee after a while.

I blink, a little surprised by the question. "I'm fine," I tell him. "Really."

He seems doubtful. "I really am," I insist. I hold out my little finger. "Pinky swear."

Beetee just puts his hand over mine and lowers it to my lap. "Are you sure _you're _alright?" I ask.

"I'm fine. Really," he says, echoing what I said earlier.

"You don't seem like it."

"Well, I am."

He's still wearing only his socks, but he either hasn't found or isn't looking for his shoes. He sits on the edge of the bed, his knees clicking, biting his lower lip. I rise. "Well…bye," I say.

"Bye," he mutters to his fidgeting hands.

I wonder what I should do—maybe kiss his cheek or something—and then decide to just leave. I'm almost out of the compartment when I hear footsteps and Beetee's voice call my name.

I turn back. "Yes?"

Beetee pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nervously bites his lip again, his eyes darting around. I cock my head a little in askance, and then he looks up. "I…"

When he doesn't finish, I fold my arms and demand, "What is it?"

He sighs. When he finally says it, the words come out in a quick, panicked, yet sincere voice; his tone erases any possibility of his words being untrue, and it's this, the knowledge that they are true, one hundred percent true, that simultaneously delights me and chills me to the bone.

"I love you," says Beetee.

At first, I don't think I've heard him right. I blink, and stupidly, I say, "What?"

"I…I love you, Johanna," he repeats. "I do. I really do."

Again, I feel like I'm drowning, but this time, I'm not drowning in an ocean euphoria but in a tidal wave of uncertainty. I try to process what he just said, the implications of what he just said. He loves me. Beetee loves me. _Beetee _loves _me._ Beetee _loves _me. He wants commitment. He wants living together and arguing and holding hands and cuddling and all that other stuff that people in relationships do. That people in love do. That people who _trust _each other do.

He loves me. _Beetee _loves me.

And if that's true, I'm faced with the question of whether or not I love him. Do I? Do I really? I've never been in love—how would I know? And even if I love Beetee—and I think I do—I wouldn't know what to do with that love. What, do we start a romantic relationship of some kind? Seal it with a kiss? Have sex again? I've never been in a relationship. I wouldn't know what to do in one. And what if he ever decides that he doesn't love me anymore? What do I do then? What if he stops loving me and I never stop loving him? How will I recover from that? What if our friendship is ruined because of it? I don't want that to happen. I'm not ready for something like this, something so sudden. I'm scared. In all honesty, I, Johanna Mason, am terrified.

"Johanna?" says Beetee. He takes a few steps toward me. "Are…are you alright?"

No. I am not alright. I'm a tornado of a million different emotions, none of which I can suppress. I can't fight any of them off when he's here.

So I flee what I can't fight.

I turn on my heel and run.

"Johanna?" Beetee's voice quickly rises to alarm as I continue sprinting down the hall. "Johanna!"

I don't stop. I keep running. I hear him try to run after me, but he's only wearing his socks and the floor is slippery and I hear a thud mixed in with his groan of pain. He fell, I guess. I still don't stop. I still keep running. And now I'm crying. I'm startled and shamed by the tears, by the uncharacteristic sign of weakness. What the hell is making me cry? And I realize what it is; Beetee isn't coming after me, but he's still calling my name.

"Johanna," he says, his voice weak, broken, "please come back…please…"

But I know better. I can't go back. I put my hands over my ears and keep running. Even with my ears covered, though, I still hear his door slam. The sound shoves my heart down a slide of broken glass.

Finally, I reach one of the laundry rooms; I hide behind a warm pipe and press my back against it, curling into a ball. I impatiently wipe away the stupid tears. Then I rest my cheek against my knee and exhale deeply, still shaking.

"What the hell have you just done, Mason?" I ask myself aloud.

I'm even more frightened because I have no answer.

**Aww…so that wasn't a happy chapter. With this chapter and the previous ten in mind, please send me some Beejo songs for me to put on the soundtrack for **_**We're Not The Same**_**. :) And to do that, you have to review! So do it! :D**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	12. Chapter 12

**Beetee Askeral**

"I mean, what was she supposed to say? 'Thanks for the lousy sex'? 'Sorry you fell in love with me, but I just don't feel the same way'? 'Sorry you were so impetuous as to think I would want more than a one-night stand'? I can't blame her for running off like that. It isn't her fault. It's mine. I overwhelmed her, put too much pressure on her. I'm such an idiot!" I let out a frustrated breath and impatiently rub my temples. After another moment, I sigh. "But she could have said _something_," I continue. "She could've at least ripped out my heart with _words_, for crying out loud. She didn't have to leave me without a response." I put a hand over my eyes, shaking my head. Then, sighing once more, I look back at the man sitting at my right, a fellow member of the Airtime Assault team. "I've ruined everything I had with her, haven't I?" I ask quietly.

The man regards me with slight agitation. "My question was, 'How was your morning?'"

"Well, my answer is awful," I retort, looking back at my own screen. "Just awful."

"You don't say," he replies sarcastically. I sigh again.

Every breath I take spikes her name through my blood. I see her face every time I blink. Her taste is as vivid on my tongue as the bitter salt from the tears I shed after I slammed the door behind her. Her absence is a physical ache, one that leaves me white and trembling and anxious. And every time her rejection reemerges in my mind, I want to scream and tear something to pieces; upon realizing that I cannot do so, my weary body goes limp in defeat. This is a cycle I'm forced through at least a dozen times per minute, and it's killing me.

Johanna knows that I love her. She doesn't love me. This fills me with a sorrow so profoundly oppressive that I'm not sure how I'll survive the next hour, much less the rest of my life. Looking at my reflection makes it worse. The spaces between my fingers are where hers fit so perfectly, as if they belonged there. I can't look at my arms without remembering the feel of her in them, without being suffocated by the knowledge that I'll never hold her again. Never again will I touch her, taste her smile, nuzzle her neck, exquisitely sweet and intoxicating sensations that I took for granted last night. Now, not only is she not my lover, she's probably no longer even my friend. I ruined everything.

"It can't be my fault," I tell Greasy Sae, a cook and refugee from 12, during the lunch break; I'm incapable of eating, so I instead pace behind her and the serving cart. "It can't. You're supposed to be honest with the ones you love, right? If Johanna is too immature to even give me a straight answer, then perhaps it's better that we aren't friends anymore. Perhaps I'm better off without her. I could do better than Johanna Mason, couldn't I?"

"Sure," says Greasy Sae absently, putting her ladle into a large pot of broth and bringing it to her lips to taste it.

I cock my head. "Are _you _single?" I ask.

Greasy Sae emits an angry cry and whips her ladle out of the pot, smacking me in the head with it; my hair now dripping gravy, I hurry out of the kitchen.

I shouldn't blame Johanna. It isn't her fault I came onto her so suddenly. Perhaps she only gave in to my whims because she didn't want to her my feeling. Perhaps she agreed to sleep with me only because it's painfully obvious that I haven't been with a woman in years. Perhaps she thought she was simply being a good friend.

"Maybe it's my fault," I say, sitting in a chair while Prim Everdeen, Katniss's younger sister, expertly makes a vacant hospital bed. "Maybe I was a fool to think there could ever be anything between us. I mean, for crying out loud, I'm almost thirty years her senior! She must think I'm some kind of pedophile! Oh, I just wish everything could go back to the way it was. What should I do?"

"Talk to her," encourages Prim, only the top of her blond head visible from her position of kneeling on the opposite side of the bed. "Just throw all of your cards out there. Show her you love her in a way she can't possibly forget, and if she still doesn't love you back, then at least you can say you gave it your all." She stands and goes to straighten the sheets.

"That's actually a good idea," I say, slightly surprised. I rise and put the chair away. "Thank you."

"I'm here to help," she says cheerfully, fluffing the pillow.

While walking through the hospital to begin my search for Johanna, I run into someone I didn't expect. Annie. She strolls idly out of a different hospital room—the same one Johanna was in yesterday!

"Annie!" I call.

She yelps in surprise and tries to flee, but I catch up to her easily. "Is Johanna back in the hospital?" I demand.

"Yes," she squeaks. "She checked herself back in this morning."

"What?" Annie winces at the volume of my voice.

"She doesn't want to see you, though," she adds quickly. "I shouldn't have even told you she was here—I promised I wouldn't—"

Hearing that Johanna not only doesn't want to see me but also made Annie promise to keep her location secret sends ice water through my veins, but I nonetheless walk around her despite her protests and knock on Johanna's door. The sound of footsteps reaches my ears. "I'm coming," says Johanna.

When she opens the door, her mouth forms a perfect _O _of surprise; I take advantage of her state and march determinedly into the room.

"What are you—how did you—why are you—Beetee!" Johanna splutters unintelligibly. She regains her poise and demands, "Why are you here?"

"We need to talk," I answer.

"About what?" she asks, sitting on the bed and crossing her long legs.

"What happened this morning," I say. "Why did you run away like that?"

"I ran away?"

"Yes," I reply. "Remember? Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Run away from me this morning!"

"Did it bother you?"

"Not as much as it did hurt," I tell her. "I just want to know why you did it."

"What are we talking about again?"

"Johanna," I say in exasperation, "you know what I'm talking about! Don't avoid the subject! Your memory is impeccable if I recall correctly, so you should remember that I told you something this morning that I'm still waiting to hear a response about."

"You said a lot of things this morning," she answers. "You'll have to be a bit more specific."

I stride forward and sit on the bed in front of her, gripping her shoulders. "I don't want to play this game anymore, Johanna," I say. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. And if you don't, here's a refresher."

Without waiting for her to respond, I kiss her on the mouth. After a few moments, I pull away and take her face in my hands; her expression is that of mild surprise. "I love you, Johanna," I say, caressing her cheeks with my thumbs. "I love you. And I want an answer, right now—do you love me?"

She blinks rapidly. Her hands find mine, and she grasps my fingers, bringing our entwined hands to the empty space on the bed between us. I search her big eyes for an answer, but her head is bowed and I can't accurately read whatever is written across her face. I find myself uncaring of whether her answer is yes or no—I just want an answer, period.

Finally, Johanna raises her face. She leans forward on her hands a bit so that she can lightly brush her lips over mine. My heartbeat accelerates at what this means, but as soon as I lean in, Johanna abruptly breaks off our kiss, leaps off the bed, and scurries toward the door; I stare at her, wide-eyed, as she cries, "I need a doctor in here, please! I'm being harassed!"

"What? I'm not harassing you!" I try to pull her away from the door, but Johanna only increases the volume of her voice as she yells, "harassment! I'm being harassed!"

A doctor soon comes to her aid and requests that I leave. "I am _not _harassing her," I insist.

Johanna only folds her arms and retreats to the opposite side of the room. The doctor repeats that I leave, and, throwing Johanna a tortured glance, I obey.

As soon as I'm out of the hospital, I find a nice, hard wall and place my palms on either side of it so that I can hit my forehead against it with an angry groan. Then, rubbing my head and wincing, I look back toward the hospital doors and yell, "You are _not _winning this game, Johanna Mason! I'm getting an answer one way or the other if I have to die trying!"

**Ooh, Beetee's determined now! Jo should probably be afraid. ;) I haven't received any songs in my reviews as of yet, but be sure to send a song you'd like to see on a Beejo soundtrack in your review, please! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	13. Chapter 13

**Johanna Mason**

"What do you mean, I'm using the hospital to escape my personal problems?" I shout.

"Exactly that," the stinking doctor replies crustily. "We're examined you extensively both physically and psychologically, Miss Mason, and there is no reason whatsoever for you to be here."

"Of course there is!" I say. "I'm crazy!"

"No, you aren't," he says. "The only thing wrong with you at the moment, Miss Mason, is whatever issue you're having with Mr. Askeral. This is _not _an issue, however, that you can solve with hypochondria. Unless you have evidence of an actual malady, I will have to ask you to leave."

Irritably, I shoo him out so that I can get dressed before leaving the hospital. All I have are the government-issued clothes on my back; I left my bundle of pine needles and journal at Beetee's compartment, and there is no way I'm returning to get them. While marching by the doctor who kicked me out, I give him the finger. He blinks but doesn't say anything. Stupid jerk.

I become instantly anxious as soon as I'm out of the safety of the hospital. Slowly, I peer around, assure myself that Beetee is nowhere to be found, and creep down the hall to Annie's compartment.

"Ah-ha! There you are!"

I yelp involuntarily and try to sprint away from him, but Beetee quickly has me backed into a corner. I'm debating whether to slip around him or just knee him in the crotch when he takes me by complete surprise; he wraps his arms around my waist and hoists me over his shoulder.

"You're coming with me," says Beetee firmly, clasping one arm over my back and the other just above my knees.

"What? No!" The idea of facing everything I've been avoiding so soon is not one I like, so I try to escape his hold; I kick my feet and beat his lower back with my fists, probably right along the cut he got during the Quell. He winces horribly and braces himself against a wall, but somehow, he manages to carry a writhing, spitting me down the hall, heading for a closet. Realizing I won't be able to fight my way free, I try a different strategy. "Kidnapping! I'm being kidnapped!" I yell.

"I doubt that will work, Johanna," says Beetee.

"Kidnapper! There's a kidnapper on the loose! He's taking me hostage! There is a _kidnapping _going on here!" I scream.

Beetee ignores me and reaches the closet, where he wrenches open the door and deposits me on the floor. I've just leapt to my feet and am prepared to fight my way out when Beetee slams the door and stands determinedly in front of it, his arms spread.

"Let me out!" I yell.

"Not until I get my answer," he replies.

"You can't keep me in here! It's illegal!" I shriek.

"It _should _be illegal for you to keep stringing me on like this," he counters. "Please, all I want is an answer. I don't care if it's yes or no; I just need to hear an answer, Johanna!"

"Let me out of here right now," I snarl, "or I will sneak into your room while you're sleeping and remove your kidneys with a plastic spoon!"

"Then will you answer my question?" asks Beetee.

"You asshole!" I march to the opposite side of the closet, which seems to be for storing cleaning supplies, and sit in the corner, not looking at him. Nevertheless, he sits himself down right next to me.

"I love you," he says.

"Go to hell."

"I really do," Beetee continues. "I love you, Johanna."

This is the fourth time he's said it today, so in an attempt to become less confused, I allow myself to ask, "Why?"

"Why?" Beetee repeats. He chuckles. "Well, why not?"

"Answer the stinking question," I snap.

He sighs and rests his fingertips on my cheek; I swat his hand away. "You're smart," he says.

"Not smart like you."

"No," he says thoughtfully. "Smart like _you_. You don't let anyone dictate what you think. You're independent. You have a great personality."

I glare at him. "You just said I wasn't stupid. 'Great personality' and 'ugly' mean the same thing, brainless."

"No, they don't," says Beetee. Hesitantly, he puts his fingertips under my chin and turns my face to his. "I think you're beautiful," he says.

Irritably, I pull away, wishing I could stop blushing. Beetee notices and smiles. "You're sweet," he says.

"Sweet like a boa constrictor," I counter.

"Sweet, but not sickeningly so," he corrects. "You have so many wonderful qualities, Johanna. Why shouldn't I love you?"

"Because I'm a bitch."

"No," says Beetee. "You're just feisty." He grins a little slyly. "And I like feisty."

"I don't give a damn what you like," I snap. I don't want to hear anymore. If I keep listening, I'll start believing some of it. And if I start believing that his love is permanent, I'll be okay with telling him that I know mine will be. That can't happen. Too dangerous. "Let me out of here."

"I still don't have my answer," says Beetee.

"Son of a bitch!" I yell.

"Do you love me, Johanna?" he asks.

"Shut up and leave me alone!" I slap my hands over my ears.

Beetee only comes closer, slipping an arm around my waist. I wish I hated having him this close. I wish I weren't so comfortable around him. I wish I didn't love him. Then it would be easier to send him away. "Johanna," he says, "all I want is an answer. I'm not forcing you to say yes. You can say no."

I can't. If I do, he'll know that I'm lying. Not even I can pull off a lie of that caliber.

"Sweet Johanna," Beetee murmurs, resting his head against my shoulder, "I promise I'll never bother you with this again if you answer me now, right now. If you don't love me, that's okay. We can pretend that this never happened. I love you that much, that I'd pretend I didn't just to make you happy. And if you do love me and you're simply reluctant or afraid to admit it—and I understand if you are—I promise that you have nothing to fear from loving me. You can take care of yourself, but if you ever need someone to protect you, I promise I'll be there for you, no questions asked."

"Damn you, damn you, damn you," I whisper.

"Johanna," he pleads, "answer me! I need to know! The suspense is killing me! Do you love me or not?"

"If I answer," I finally say, my voice shaking with rage and fear, "you'll want to make something of it, start a relationship or something, and I can't do that! I'm not ready for it and I'll never be ready, so you're wasting your time!"

I didn't say it with words, but Beetee is smart enough to read between the lines. I don't look at him to watch the implications of what I said sink in. "You think I'm ready?" he asks. "I've had about as much experience with love and romance as you, Johanna. I'm almost as clueless as you are." He pries a hand away from my ear to twine his fingers with mine. I want to pull away, to not give him the satisfaction, but I can't. His hand in mine feels too good to let go of. "We can learn together, Johanna," he says, using his other hand to trace the line of my jaw. I look at him tortuously, too worn down to be angry. "Trial and error. Somehow, we'll make it work."

"No, we won't," I retort. "We can't. We're too different."

"Different?" Beetee seems a little surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" I continue. "We're opposites. I'm fire, you're rain. I'm not even twenty-five, you're almost fifty. I like trees, you like machines. See? We don't have anything in common. It could never work, and you aren't as smart as I thought you were if you think otherwise."

"We do too have things in common," says Beetee. "We're both victors, for one. We're human. We're both lonely. Stop me if I say something false."

I can't. Everything he's saying is true.

"We love each other," he murmurs. He cups my cheek. "Am I wrong?"

"What do you think, brainless?" I whisper back.

"I think I'm right. I think you love me. I think you're just afraid," says Beetee. He rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay to be afraid. I am too. This is unknown territory."

"Uncharted waters," I add. "Dangerous."

"Dangerous," he repeats. "Yes, that would describe this accurately. Dangerous. Very much so. There are so many things that could go wrong. I know that. You know that. I'm willing to look past that. Are you?"

I don't want to look at him, but he tilts my chin up so that I have to look at him, at dark eyes behind glasses that don't fit right. "And if this doesn't work?" I say.

"Then we can say that we gave it everything we had and that the failure is through no fault of our own," he replies. "Are you willing to look past the dangers and trust me, Johanna?"

"I can't," I whisper.

"Yes, you can," he says.

"No, I can't," I insist. "I can't. I can't just hand you the weapons you need to tear me apart. I won't do that."

"I would never hurt you," he replies softly.

"I don't know that," I counter.

"You're more liable to hurt me than I am to hurt you," says Beetee, "but I trust you."

"I don't care."

He kisses my forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"I love you," he whispers.

I just shake my head.

"Tell me, Johanna," he says.

"Tell you what?" I whisper. It's stupid to ask. I already know what.

"What I need to hear. What you know is true," says Beetee.

I don't look at him. He kisses the corner of my eye, my cheek. "Please, Jo. Please."

Forget the danger. Forget the fact that he's more than twice my age. Forget all the stuff that can go wrong. I want this. I want it so badly it hurts. I _need _it, for crying out loud. And maybe, just maybe, he'll come through for me in the long run. It isn't easy to say out loud. But I'm me. I shouldn't be afraid of anything. Especially not this. So I sigh and whisper, "I love you."

Beetee smiles, but he has tears in his eyes. "Now, was that so hard?"

"Yes," I insist.

He just laughs and kisses me again, this time on the mouth; I wrap my arms around my neck and twine my fingers in his hair, kissing back fiercely, the stupid nerd I fell in love with.

When we finally come up for air, Beetee laughs again. "So, um...now what?" I ask.

"Well," says Beetee, "I think we just continue the way we've been. Except we talk about our feelings more. And there's hand-holding and kissing."

"And sex," I add as he stands and helps me up. He sighs.

"Yes," he says, smiling. He laces his fingers through mine. "Ready to face the world, Miss Mason?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not afraid of anything, you big geek."

"Not even being seen in public with me?" he asks, grinning.

"Nope," I say. "Not even that."

Beetee opens the door and gestures out. "Then lead the way."

I hesitate for a moment, still wary. Solemnly, Beetee brings my hand to his lips and murmurs, "Now that we've found each other, I promise everything will be okay."

I sigh and smile. "If you insist."

We leave the closet and close the door behind us, still holding hands. He squeezes my fingers. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say, a little surprised by just how good I feel. "I'm great, actually." I squeeze his hand back. "You?"

He grins and brings me close. "Phenomenal," he whispers, sealing the words with another kiss.

I guess that means I am, too.

**Aww! Happy chapter! :) Beejo is official, now! Yay! So give the happy couple a present in the form of a review, please! And please, please keeping sending your Beejo songs! ^.^**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	14. Chapter 14

**Beetee Askeral**

"Beetee!" Annie cries. She runs up to me and Johanna. "Thank goodness! I have a problem. Johanna was released from the hospital, but I can't find her—"

"Annie," says Jo, waving, "I'm right here."

Annie blinks and looks from me to Johanna, back to me, back to Johanna, and then at our entwined hands. She suddenly seems in danger of fainting, so for the first time since we left the closet, Jo releases my hand to keep Annie steady. "Relax," she says.

"What's going on?" Annie's voice is a unique blend of a whisper and a shriek.

Johanna looks at me. "You want to tell her?"

"You're better with words," I answer.

"Annie," says Johanna, "remember how Beetee and I hated each other?"

Annie nods.

"Now we don't," says Johanna.

"We couldn't hate each other any less, actually," I add with a smile, taking her hand again. Jo grins and squeezes my fingers.

"So you two...you're..." Annie still seems a bit confused.

"A thing," says Johanna. "You know, man and woman, holding hands, kissing, sex."

"Talking about feelings, flowers, candies shaped like little hearts," I add.

"Ooh, I like candy," says Johanna, grinning again.

"How did this happen?" Annie interrupts, her sea-green eyes wide.

"Long story," Jo and I say in unison.

Annie blinks rapidly, peering around. Suddenly, she beams. "That's wonderful!" she says. "I'm happy for you two! And Finnick will be too when he comes back. Because he will come back, he will," she adds under her breath, chanting the words to herself.

"Let's go back to your compartment, Annie," says Johanna, intervening. She puts her hands on Annie's shoulders to keep Annie from covering her ears. "Almost time for Reflection, anyway."

The two pass me and Jo brushes my hip with hers. "I'll see _you _later," she says mischeviously. I watch her as she disappears with Annie down the corridor.

The thirty minutes before Reflection pass like hours as I dawdle in Special Defense, airing propos and the like. Unfortunately, a soldier from Squad 451—a young woman called Leeg 2, as odd as the name sounds—was killed recently, and to everyone's surprise, President Coin has personally assigned Peeta as her replacement. Though Katniss can't be too happy about that, the propos _are _much more interesting and revolutionizing with Peeta, the boy Snow attempted to destroy from the inside out, fighting alongside Katniss, Gale, Finnick, and four other District 13 soldiers.

Finally, we are released for Reflection and I travel as calmly as I can through the halls to my compartment, where Johanna is undoubtedly waiting for me. _Johanna_. How long have I wanted us to be what we are now? Though it's only been a few weeks at the most, it feels as if it's been years. I reach the door to Compartment 134 and can't keep the grin off my face when I open it, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. My lungs fill with the scent of pine as I breathe deeply; the bathroom door is ajar and light shines onto the carpet, so I approach it and knock once.

"Johanna?" The door is open anyway, so I peer in and see Johanna standing in front of the sink, using a table knife probably taken from the cafeteria to clean her fingernails. She wears only a camisole and her underpants, and the sight of so much of her skin is more than a little distracting. At the sound of my voice, she looks up, grins, and tosses the knife into the sink.

"Hey," she says, stepping toward me and wrapping her arms around my neck. I slip mine around her waist, my hands splayed across her back; she steps out of the hug slightly only to press her lips against mine. I bring a hand to her cheek and keep it there even when she breaks off our kiss, grinning again. I smile back, albeit a little nervously; Johanna notices and asks, "You okay?"

"Yes," I answer. "I'm...still unused to..._this_."

She cocks her head. "'This'?" she repeats.

"You. Loving you," I clarify. "It's still a little new to me."

Jo nods. She averts her gaze as she murmurs, "Do you, um, like it?"

I chuckle and rest my forehead against hers, smiling in reassurance. "Yes," I say. "Do you?"

"More than I thought I would," she admits. She narrows her eyes when my smile turns to a smirk. "Don't look so smug," she says. "I don't care how sexy you are, I'll still kick your ass."

I blink in surprise as she untangles herself from my embrace and crosses into the bedroom. "You think I'm sexy?" I ask.

Johanna sits on the bed and rolls her eyes. "No duh, brainless," she says. Grinning slyly, she rises and slinks over to me, sliding open the first few buttons of my shirt and pressing her lips against my throat. "Like a god," she whispers against my skin.

Both of us are aware of how much power she currently has over me. The sensation is entirely new and astonishing in how natural it feels. It's as if my body was created to be satisfied by this woman.

Johanna slips her arms around my waist and forces me to turn, stepping forward and pushing me back. I gladly retreat as her feet direct me to and Jo pushes me onto the bed, holding herself above me on her partially-extended arms with a devilishly sexy grin.

"We have twenty-five minutes, Johanna," I remind her even as I grasp the hem of her camisole and settle into the pillows. "We have to be fast or we'll miss dinner."

She groans in exapseration, sitting up some. "You are so stereotypically male," she says. "You have a half-naked woman on top of you and you're really thinking about _food?_"

I chuckle and place my hands on her back again, enticing her to reassume her position of lying on top of me. "Point taken," I say fairly. I trail my fingertips from her bare shoulder to her chin, tilting her head so that her lips are locked with mine. For the next few hours, the only things that remain in existence are me, Johanna, our two rapidly beating hearts, and the way we move to showcase the love stored within them.

When we're finally sated and I'm able to form words on my tongue, I murmur, "Did we miss dinner?"

Johanna scoffs, her breath warm against the skin of my throat. "What do you think, brainless?" she replies.

The clock behind her reads nine-thirty. We missed dinner by three hours; in fact, we were so consumed in what we were doing that we didn't even notice the lights go off. This knowledge makes me redden.

"You know, Beetee," says Jo, nuzzling my neck, "you are damned _good _at what you do." She grins when she feels me blush in response.

"Um...thank you," I answer.

She chuckles. "No, thank _you_."

Johanna stands and we make a half-hearted attempt at straightening the sheets we tore off the bed in our frenzy. Then, exhausted, we lie down and yank the blanket over us; I smile at the affectionate way Jo clings to me and close my eyes to sleep.

Suddenly, I open them and swear aloud.

"What's wrong?" asks Johanna, propping herself up on an elbow.

"I was supposed to go back to Special Defense after dinner," I say.

"Oh." She doesn't seem very concerned.

"I doubt there's any chance that my absence went unnoticed," I continue. "What am I supposed to tell the rest of the team tomorrow morning?"

"The truth," says Jo, snuggling back into the curve of my body. "That, unlike the rest of that team of nerds, you actually have a girlfriend and that you forwent returning to Special Defense to have intercourse with her. They won't be mad. They'll probably just be curious seeing as the only lover any of them have ever had was their hand."

I narrow my eyes. "That's vulgar."

"That's the point," she replies sleepily. She yawns. "So quit worrying and go to sleep."

I sigh. "Okay." I press a kiss on the top of her head. "I love you."

"Me too, Beetee. Me too."

Her not repeating the words _I love you _is something I notice but brush aside. I understand how difficult and nerve-racking this transition has been for her and don't blame her in the slightest for not being able to convey her feelings for me in a more stereotypical fashion. Instead, I simply close my eyes and let sleep take over.

From what I've gathered from various friends and books, there is often a honeymoon period of new relationships where the couple finds it difficult to sleep in the same bed without copulating. I personally never thought something of that nature would happen to me if I ever entered any kind of romantic relationship, but it turns out that I was very, very wrong. In the nine-hour period that was supposed to be devoted to sleep, Johanna and I make love three times. By the time the lights automatically turn on at six o'clock, I've reverted to tunneling as deeply in my warm cocoon of blankets as possible with a pillow held over my head in a gesture from my childhood. Johanna, however, has different ideas and snatches that pillow to hit me with it.

"Jo, stop," I moan.

"Wake up!" she yells, her voice piercingly loud at this early hour. "Damn, why are you so sleepy?"

I prop myself up on an elbow and say, "You have to _ask?_"

Johanna laughs and settles back onto the bed. "Point taken," she says with a yawn. "But we have to get up or Coin will definitely be on our tails." She grins and leans forward so that her lips touch my ear. "There's only one person I want on my tail and it isn't Coin," she whispers.

My eyes widen and my face reddens at the thought. Jo laughs again upon seeing my expression and begins picking through her drawer of government-issued clothing; she dresses quickly and runs her fingers through her hair, which has almost returned to length it was before the Quell. I find a clean pair of undergarments and stumble into the bathroom to wash my face and shave. When I pick up the razor, however, Johanna pokes her head in and grasps my wrist in restraint. "Don't," she says.

"Why not?"

She grins and touches my cheek. "I like how you like now, so dark and dangerous."

Though sarcasm is a weapon I only employ when necessary and certainly not against someone I care about so deeply, I'm unable to prevent the next words from coming out of my mouth. "Yes, because we really need a little more danger in our lives."

I expect Jo to either hit me or storm off, trying to appear angry when her feelings are just hurt, but to my slight surprise, she just laughs. "Good point. But danger's sexy when it's you."

I do as she asks and when we're both dressed, I surprise her by taking her hand and saying, "Come with me."

"What?"

"To Special Defense. Do you have anything else to do?"

Johanna purses her lips in concentration. "No." Then she grins slyly. "Wait...you only want me to come so that you can show me off to all your little nerd friends, don't you?"

"That may be part of it," I admit. I smile. "I also just enjoy spending time with you."

Jo rolls her eyes. "Okay. I'll come. But only because I want to."

I laugh. "Of course."

Hand-in-hand, we stroll through hallways until we reach the elevator, where we begin our descent; as soon as we reach Special Defense, however, Plutarch Heavensbee approaches us.

"Beetee," he says. "Finally. I've been looking for you since yesterday evening."

I look away guiltily, but Johanna keeps staring straight ahead.

"We have a problem," Plutarch continues. He sees Johanna. "And Miss Mason. What are you...oh, never mind. I suppose you had better hear this as well."

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Come with me," says Plutarch. Johanna and I follow him into what appears to be an empty boardroom; we sit down and Plutarch sits directly in front of us, seeming grave. "This isn't news I ever wanted to have to relay," he begins.

"What's wrong?" says Jo.

Plutarch sighs. "They're...they're dead," he finally says.

Johanna and I gape at him. "Who is _they?_" demands Johanna. I squeeze her hand, half in reassurance, half in warning.

"The..." Plutarch trails off.

"Tell us!" says Johanna. I nod vigorously, unable to speak.

"The remaining members of Squad Four-Five-One," he answers. "Including Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Gale Hawthorne, and Finnick Odair. They're dead."

**And before anyone gets upset that I left you with such an enormous cliffhanger, I want to go ahead and mention that I haven't really left my faithful readers with _any _cliffhangers in fourteen chapters. If you've read my previous works, you'll understand how remarkable that is. I decided a cliffhanger was long overdue. :) Don't worry; I'll update ASAP! **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Sorry for keeping you guys waiting! I decided it would be better to work on this instead of **_**Breaking Point **_**since the latter is on hiatus. Once this story is done, I'll spend more time on BP (I've already finished Chapters 12 to 21!) and then work on **_**this **_**story's sequel—because yes, there will be a sequel. :) It won't be a seven-part series like SIS; it'll probably only be the two stories, **_**We're Not The Same **_**and the sequel, whose title I will not reveal as of yet. ****;) But anyway, do enjoy this chapter; it was a pain in the derrière to right, so if it's a little sloppy, I apologize. :P I did try my best, though, as always. **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

**Johanna Mason**

Beetee and I stare at Plutarch in shock. I don't think he can speak, so I voice the thought in both of our heads. "How?"

"There was an accident," says Plutarch. "Commander Boggs accidentally set off a landmine."

"A _landmine?_" Beetee whispers.

"Yes," says Plutarch. "More explosions were triggered, and the eleven surviving members of Squad Four-Five-One perished. Peacekeepers will retrieve their bodies tomorrow, I believe."

Katniss. Finnick. My only friends. Dead. Blown up by the Capitol. Just two more people they took away from me. I look at Beetee out of the corner of my eye. He's staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed over. I remember how much he worked down here with Gale, and I realize they must have been friends. I'm not the only one who's lost.

"President Coin is writing a eulogy for Katniss," Plutarch continues.

"What about everyone else?" I demand.

"Their deaths are tragic, yes, but it's the Mockingjay's that is most significant," he replies.

With those words, I'm on my feet. "What about Finnick? Huh? He was my best friend! No one gives a damn about him, now do they? What about Gale? Peeta? What about the rest of those dead soldiers? Huh?"

Beetee finally speaks. "Johanna, calm down," he says to the table, his eyes still downcast. Something about his tone, flat and broken, makes me obey. I sit back down.

"President Snow will undoubtedly give a statement," says Plutarch. "That would be an ideal time for you and your team to air Coin's, Beetee."

"Yes, of course," he says. He looks up. "I'll be sure to do so."

"Annie," I say. "What about her?"

"She's in the hospital. Under sedation," says Plutarch. "You should go see her, Miss Mason. And Beetee can return to the Airtime Assault team while you do that."

We nod. Plutarch, seeing that we want some time alone, leaves.

"Gale," whispers Beetee. "Katniss. Finnick. Peeta." He makes a strange noise, a sort of moan, and folds his arms on the table, burying his face in them. I rest my hand on his head and stroke his hair.

I don't really know what to say. I'm not good at comforting people, only at putting them down. What should I tell him? That everything's alright? No, that would be stupid, because everything _isn'__t _alright. It's far from alright. Finnick and Katniss are dead. Annie lost a husband. I just lost two friends. Beetee lost at least one, two if Katniss was his friend; I'm not really sure what there was there. All I do is sit and caress his hair, not saying anything. Beetee seems grateful for the gesture even if I can't say anything reassuring.

Finally, he picks his head up, takes off his glasses, wipes his eyes, and replaces them, standing up. "I'd better go get started on airing Coin's statement," he says. "And Annie needs all the support she can get. You'd better go see her now."

I nod. "Okay."

Beetee kisses my cheek. "I'll see you soon."

"Okay," I repeat, looking at the floor. He leaves and I follow suit, taking a right contrary to his left and returning to the elevator. I could probably find my way to the hospital in my sleep by now, but I go slowly nonetheless because of nerves. What am I supposed to say to Annie? Her husband just died, and if she was a little cooky then, she's probably full-blown nuts now. Suddenly I wish I were the one airing Coin's statement or whatever and Beetee were going to go talk to Annie. I'm not good with people, only at making fun of them. How do I talk to a grieving, possibly insane widow?

I reach the hospital. When asked for Annie, I'm directed to a hospital room similar to the one I've spent most of my time in 13 in. I knock on the door; no one answers, so I just open it and go inside.

Annie lies in bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Her scraggly hair is all around her head like a halo. Her fingers clutch the sheet desperately, and she seems to be tracing knot patterns on the blanket. Her skin is white and her lips are bloodless. A morphling drip is hooked up to her arm; though I kicked the stuff, the smell of it makes me wrinkle my nose and wince in longing. Every so often, an eerie sound comes out of Annie's mouth, a mixture of a moan of pain and a quiet scream. I want nothing more than to get out of here, but Annie needs a friend now more than ever. Finnick was there for me when no one else was; how could I let his wife down? Sure she's nuts, but Finnick loved her, and that's enough for me to cross the room and sit in a chair by her bed.

"Hi, Annie," I say as brightly as I can.

Her green eyes roll over to me. Her lips part slightly, and she whispers, "Johanna."

"Yep," I say with a forced smile. "It's me." I put my hand on hers; her fingers are ice cold. "You doing okay?"

She makes that sound again, and I cringe. Her eyes fill with tears; they spill out and roll into her ears. I regret asking such a stupid question. Of course she's not okay. She's as far from okay as someone can be.

"Finnick," she whispers, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

"I know," I tell her in what I hope is a soothing voice, patting her icy hand. "But you'll be okay. I miss him too. But I promise that we'll get through this together."

"Finnick," Annie repeats, squeezing her eyes shut.

"It'll be okay, Annie," I insist. "Really. I promise."

"I'm...my...Finnick...my..." She's spluttering unintelligibly now, so I'm scared she's lost it.

"What?" I ask, hoping she isn't crazy and is instead trying to tell me something.

"I'm..."

"What are you?" I try not to make it a demand, but it's hard to keep my patience.

"Finnick...me...I'm..." Annie looks back at the ceiling, and I sigh. It's official. She's gone off the deep end.

"Annie," I say, "I know you're in pain, but—"

"Baby!" she suddenly cries.

"What?" I struggle to make sense of it. My eyes widen as I take in what else she's been saying. "Annie," I say, trying to keep my voice level, "are you...are you pregnant?"

She looks relieved that I've finally figured it out. "Yes," she whispers. "Finnick and me...we're going to have a baby...but now he's..."

"Shh, calm down," I say quickly, patting her cold hand. "It's okay. You're pregnant?"

She nods. "Finnick isn't coming back," she whispers, her face ashen. "So…"

"You need help," I infer, clasping her icy hands tighter. "I'll help you, Annie. I promise."

To be honest, there isn't much I could do—I don't know the first thing about babies—but Finnick was my best friend. I would do anything for him. If that entails looking after his pregnant, slightly deranged wife and eventually his kid, then so be it.

"Thank you," says Annie wispily. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," I mutter, shuffling my feet. Gratitude is not something I'm used to.

She smiles sadly and murmurs, "You can go back to Beetee now, Johanna. I know they probably just made you come…here…" Her words trail off into oblivion and her eyes fixate on a blank spot on the wall.

My face is red at her assumption, but I nonetheless mumble some kind of thanks before leaving. Then, I meander back to Special Defense. When I ask for Beetee, I'm told that I can't see him at the moment; apparently, he and his team are too busy. Irritably, I go back to our compartment and throw myself on the bed, where exhaustion suddenly hits. I'm asleep in minutes.

"Johanna. Jo, wake up." Someone's shaking me. I take a swing, but my arm is caught in someone's hand. "Come on, Johanna, wake up. Please?"

Wait, I know that voice. Beetee. I let him pull me into a sitting position and I rub my eyes. "What time is it?"

"You missed lunch," he says. "And dinner."

Damn. That was a long nap. I suppose it was all the not-sleeping last night. I grin at the thought. "So, what's new?"

Beetee kicks off his shoes, removes his socks one by one, and undoes the first few buttons of his shirt. I resist the urge to unbutton the rest. "We're aired Coin's statement," he says tiredly, "and Katniss's eulogy has been given. Her body and those of the other perished soldiers will be retrieved tomorrow morning."

"Any good news?" I ask.

He sighs. "No," he answers. "But then again, when is there _ever _good news here?"

Beetee must have had a bad day. He's never this pessimistic. That's my style. "Anything I can do?" I say.

"Don't leave," he suggests.

"What made you think I was going to?"

"Never mind." He runs his fingers through his hair. He seems exhausted and suddenly much older. Stretching momentarily, he stands and asks, "Do you need the bathroom?"

"No."

I get into pajamas while Beetee showers. Considering how we spent all of last night, you wouldn't think I'd need pajamas, but something tells me tonight won't be as amorous as the previous. It'd be horrible when you think of how many dead friends we have now. And the fact that we were having sex while they blew up. The idea makes me feel strangely empty.

When's he's dressed, the communicuff on his wrist starts beeping. He looks at it, and his previously tired eyes light up. I notice and prop on my elbow, having been lying in bed, and ask, "What's up?"

"I'll tell you in the morning." He gets in bed next to me, seeming almost giddy. "I promise. Just go to sleep."

Despite that nap earlier, I feel very tired. "What is it?" I insist.

"Go to sleep. I'll tell you in the morning," says Beetee. The lights flick off. I fight to stay awake, to demand to know his good news, but he's stroking my hair and murmuring nonsense that soothes me. I won't win this battle, so I let sleep take over once again.

**Ugh…this chapter. Just…this chapter. Please tell me that it isn't as awful as the last one, and don't worry—next chapter will be better. :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy **


	16. Chapter 16

**On a scale of sexiness, Finnick is an angel—but Beetee is a god. *****fangirl squeal followed by loss of consciousness***

**That being said, please enjoy the chapter! :) It's really, really long.**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

**Beetee Askeral**

Johanna wakes me up before the lights have even turned on, having recovered completely from her exhaustion, and demands to know the source of my elation. I explain to her while we dress.

"They were wrong," I say simply. "The Capitol. The only ones who are dead are Boggs and a District Thirteen soldier. Mitchell, I think his name was. But Katniss is alive. So is Gale, and Finnick, and Peeta. They're alive, Johanna!"

She seems unable to believe it. "That's…that's impossible," she says. "They died! We saw them!"

"They escaped," I correct. "Plutarch saw the emergency report from the Capitol last night."

I watch her face as it sinks in. She seems thrilled. "Finnick!"

"Yes," I assure her, smiling. "He's alive."

"I have to tell Annie," she says. The lights activate. "She'll be so happy! Especially with the—" Jo suddenly cuts herself off and busies with her shirt buttons.

"With the what?" I inquire.

"Never mind," she mutters. "None of your business, anyway."

I blink. The implication that Johanna is keeping secrets from me is not one I like. Nonetheless, I brush it off. If it's something important, she'll tell me. Isn't that what good lovers do?

Johanna and I stroll down the hallway hand-in-hand. She seems oddly quiet, but I try not to think anything of it. Jo finally speaks when we enter the elevator, but only to restrain me from pressing the button labeled _Special Defense. _Instead, she hits the one labeled _Infirmary._

"The hospital?" I ask, confused.

Jo shoots me a look. "No duh, brainless." I wince, and she immediately clasps her forehead and mutters, "Sorry, sorry."

"Are you feeling alright?" I touch her cheek in concern.

"Yes," she says. "I'm just going to see Annie."

"Annie?"

"Um, yeah. To tell her about Finnick."

"Alright, then." I try not to let my uncertainty show. The elevator doors slide apart, revealing the crisp white infirmary, and I trail my fingertips from her cheek to her chin so that I can tilt her face to mine and kiss her. Johanna blinks when I pull away after a half a second and becomes tense when I say, "I love you."

"Um…yeah. I do too. You know, um…never mind," Johanna stammers, seeming irritated with herself. She marches out of the elevator and looks for Annie's room.

_What is with her today? _I can't help but think as I press the button that will take me to Special Defense. Johanna weighs heavily on my mind for the rest of the morning. Is she hiding something? How long have she and Annie been so close? I know that Finnick and Johanna are good friends and that she had a steady relationship with Annie, but I didn't think she and Johanna were just as friendly. And what's itching me the most is the fact that not once since our rendezvous in that hall closet has Johanna said she loved me. Not once. Not even in response to when _I've _said it. The idea that she does is unbelievable enough, and without any kind of reminder, the declaration of her love becomes falser and falser…

I firmly pull myself out of those thoughts. Why am I being so paranoid? Johanna loves me. So what if she doesn't tell me? I've turned her entire life upside down in just a few days. Jo has never known love; it's probably still a very foreign concept to her. I shouldn't put so much pressure on her. She'll come around. I know she will.

Plutarch arrives and is about to release us for Reflection when the television connected to the Capitol's broadcast network turns on automatically. Five faces flash—Katniss, Peeta, Gale, and two members of Squad 451's camera crew, Cressida and Pollux. We all stare stoically as they are labeled the five rebel survivors.

I've just stood and am facing the door—to do what, I don't know—when Plutarch sways on his feet. I hurry and catch him under the arms when he falls; he isn't a large man, but almost everyone is large compared to me and I nearly topple beneath his weight. Luckily, two stronger members of my Airtime Assault team come to my aid, and together, we prop Plutarch against a wall. Someone returns with a glass of cold water; though he hasn't completely lost consciousness, I lightly slap his cheek twice with the palm of my hand to make sure he's roused. The former Head Gamemaker blinks and accepts the water he is given, gulping it feverishly. Finally, he speaks. "How?" he whispers. "Just yesterday, there were _eleven_…"

"They _are _in combat," I say gently, kneeling so that we're eye-to-eye. I'm taken aback by my tone—prior to this moment, I only ever used it with Wiress. "But like you always say, look at the forest, not at the trees. The Mockingjay is alive. The remaining soldiers, including Katniss, are probably in some kind of safe house. What they're planning, I don't know, but we'll figure out something to retrieve them before seizing the Capitol. Everything will be okay."

"Yes," says Plutarch. His voice reminds me of a child seeking reassurance; I've heard his tone in many a tribute. For whatever reason, District 3 always has more twelve-year-olds reaped than any other district. Plutarch's tone shifts to his normal one as he repeats, "Yes. Yes, of course."

He allows me to help him up, seeming a bit embarrassed by his near-faint. I suppose there's a difference between watching unknown, nameless children murder each other on a screen and hearing of the deaths of trusted soldiers, fellow rebels, even of friends. Seeming much less confident than usual, he mutters that the bell dismissing everyone to their compartments for Reflection has rang and the twenty or so members of the Airtime Assault team dissipate. When I arrive at Compartment 134, however, a quick inspection reveals that Johanna is not here. Again, I am stumped, confused as to what her ulterior motives could be. Is she still with Annie? Why has she suddenly developed the urge to spend time with her? I shake my head slightly. I suppose I'm being a bit territorial. I don't _own _Johanna—she makes it clear that _no one _does. One of the reasons I love her.

I try to allow Jo and Annie have Reflection by themselves, assuming Johanna will join me for dinner, but after fifteen minutes, my patience evaporates and I find myself in the elevator, descending to the floor housing the infirmary. I'm directed to Annie's room, and I find it soon enough with the door slightly ajar. I peek in, and sure enough, Johanna sits on Annie's bed with Finnick's widow. To my slight surprise, Annie doesn't seem to be heavily drugged—though she is attached to a morphling drip—or in a stoic state of depression. She doesn't seem happy either, but her face wears a thin veil of happiness, as if the scales of pleasure and displeasure have been slightly tilted so that her joys weigh a little heavier against her still-overpowering sorrows. I'm also struck by the fact that Johanna is sitting on Annie's bed. Jo doesn't like being close to people—not even me at the moment, with sex being the exception. I rub my temple with two fingers as I watch in confusion. What is going on?

I'm even more disturbed when I finally step into the room and hear the women's quiet voices stop abruptly. Johanna turns to me, seeming surprised, and rises from the bed.

"Beetee," she says. "I didn't know you were here."

"I was wondering where _you _where," I answer, trying to smile, but my head is spinning too much. Are Annie and Johanna hiding something from me? Why?

"I was here," says Jo. Annie smiles slightly and nods, as if to affirm this.

"It's almost time for dinner," I say. I wish I didn't sound so...so..._clingy_. "I was wondering if you wanted to join me."

"Sure," says Johanna. She sneaks a side glance at Annie. "Unless..."

"No, that's okay," says Annie. "Will you come back tomorrow?"

"Duh," Johanna replies, flashing a grin.

Now I'm even _more _perplexed. Johanna is asking Annie for permission to leave? Since when has Johanna asked _anyone _for permission to do _anything_? What is going on with these two?

I'm brought out of my contemplation by Johanna's warm hand clasping mine. "Well, come on," she says. "I want to get good spots in line."

We leave the hospital, still holding hands, and enter the elevator. Johanna hums to herself and swings our arms, the fulcrum being our entwined hands, to the rhythm. Even though she must have heard about the death of Finnick—again—she seems happy. Her eyes are closed as she hums idly, reminding me for the first time of Wiress. My plan was to allow her to open up about her relationship with Annie and whatever secret the two are keeping on her own, but perplexity is not an emotion I'm used to or enjoy, so I have to ask. "Um, love?"

Johanna doesn't respond to the term of endearment replacing her name. Is she too caught up in her singing? Or is she simply ignoring me? I try again. "Love." I release her hand to clasp her shoulder. Still, she continues to hum, her eyes closed. She's either lost in her own little world or is completely ignoring me. "Johanna!"

Her eyes snap open and her humming stops. She looks at me, wide-eyed. "What?"

We reach the cafeteria. "I'm sorry about Finnick," I say.

She gives a sad little sigh. "Me too. But hey, he died in combat—it's what he would've wanted."

"How's Annie holding up?" I ask as we take our places in line.

"Not as badly as I would've thought," she answers. We scan our tattooed schedules to receive our respective portions and find an empty table.

"You two certainly have become close," I say lightly.

Johanna swallows and looks at me as she wipes her mouth with a napkin. "I guess so," she says.

"It's kind of you to look after her after what happened to Finnick," I add.

Her eyes widen. I wonder if she has ever been called kind before this moment. I can't think of a proper response, so we end up eating our dinner in silence. My communicuff tells me that we don't need to air any propos tonight and that I'm free to do as I please, so I follow Johanna back to our compartment. I'd like to hold her hand, but the one not tracing patterns in the wall as we walk along it is in her pocket. Her enigma, one of her most attractive qualities in other circumstances, is driving me mad. I suppose adjusting from reading Wiress's mind to struggling to discover Johanna's motives is finally taking its toll.

"You can have the bathroom first," I say when we arrive at Compartment 134. Bathing isn't scheduled for another hour, but our schedules are free from now until tomorrow morning and considering the calamities that have erupted repeatedly over the past few days, it'd be best that we have an early night.

"I'm good," says Johanna, plucking through her drawer for clean pajamas. I come up behind her and grasp her wrist, surprising her; she tries to pull away, but I keep her hand in mine long enough to see the dirt under her fingernails. Forcefully, she yanks her wrist away and holds her hand protectively against her chest, glaring at me. Her cheeks and ears are red, giving away her humiliation about her lack of cleanliness. I'm not disgusted, however—just angry. Not at her. At the Capitol for doing this to her.

My eyes flit toward the bathroom, and I suddenly get an idea. It's a long shot, but I want so dearly to help her. If I'm gentle enough, she may let me. I approach Johanna and rest my hands on her shoulders, hugging her. She bows her head, relaxing a bit in my arms, and I take advantage of this to lead her to the bathroom. When Jo catches wind of what I'm trying to do, she lets out an almost catlike hiss and tries to flee. I keep a tight hold on her, however.

"Johanna," I say. "Johanna, please don't fight me. I'm trying to help."

"No," she gasps. "No!"

"Johanna," I plead, "I'm trying to help. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not. I promise. I _swear_."

Her fear has encompassed her and is vocalized by her panting and whimpering. With less effort than I thought necessary, I put my hands under her and pick her up, marveling at the fact that she doesn't resist and carrying her to the bathroom. Johanna trembles like a leaf, her face white.

After turning on the water, I take Jo's hand, press my lips to each of her fingertips, and guide it toward the gushing faucet. Petrified, Johanna yanks it away with a frantic cry of, "No!"

"Shh," I whisper, cupping her face and kissing her forehead. "It's okay. I'm just making sure that the water is warm enough for you."

"I don't want to—you can't make me—please—"

I'm not sure if she's talking to me anymore.

"Johanna, you trust me, right?"

Squeezing her eyes shut and undoubtedly blocking out the memories of her interrogation, Johanna nods.

"And you love me, don't you?" I persist.

She hesitates, which terrifies me, but Jo nods again, pressing herself against me.

"I promised I would take care of you," I tell her, rubbing her back. "This will help you. I promise it will. You'll feel so much better, Jo. I promise."

She stares at me, wide-eyed and trembling, and to my surprise, she puts her hands on her chest and begins shakily unbuttoning her blouse. This simple act shows me how much she trusts me, and I try not to smile.

Johanna slowly undresses while the bathtub fills; she purposely keeps from looking at it. When she dares to look my way, she purses her lips. "You're g-getting in with me," she stammers, trying and failing to keep her usual ferocity in her voice.

Of course I agree to do so. Anything to calm her. I discard my own clothing and wrap my arms around Johanna's trembling form. Her skin has erupted in chills that have nothing to do with the temperature.

"I love you," I murmur. "I'm only trying to help. You have to open the wound to let it heal, Johanna."

She just nods, her entire body tense. I gently grasp her forearms and guide her toward the bathtub, turning off the water before it overflows. Jo shakes her head again, but her effort to pull away is weak. To show her that she has nothing to fear, I step in the bathtub first. Because her arms are still in my grip, I only have to tug slightly to bring her in with me. Johanna gets in the tub one foot at a time, shivering violently when she is calf-deep in water. I lower myself into the water and gently take her down with me, holding her tight when her trembling gets worse. "It's okay," I soothe. "It's okay. I promise."

Johanna has her eyes shut very tightly as I massage shampoo into her hair. I prolong rinsing it as I lather soap over the rest of her body, smiling when her shaking hands begin to do the same for me.

"See? This isn't so bad," I tell her.

Jo is silent, only peeking through her eyelashes, but she isn't shaking as much and allows a tight smile before focusing on working shampoo into every hair on my head.

It takes quite some time to clean Johanna completely and then rinse the soap from her body, but somehow, we manage it. Jo's whole body, previously tense, sags in relief when I drain the tub and wrap her in a towel. She dries herself off feverishly even as she marches into the bedroom; after pulling my undergarments back on, I follow her.

Johanna flinches when I touch her shoulders, but she relaxes upon remembering that it's only me. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" I ask.

She takes her time answering, drying herself off some more, paying special attention to her hair and torso. Finally, she gives me a weak smirk and says, "I guess not. Only because it's you."

Words cannot describe how happy this makes me. Johanna rolls her eyes when I smile, but she averts her gaze as another memory fights for her consciousness. "I want to go to bed," she announces, climbing under the blankets.

I nod, but Jo sits up and stares as I make to return to the bathroom for my clothes. "Where are you going?" she asks; her voice is still shaky, but she's regained most of her edge.

"What do you mean?"

"When I said I wanted to go to bed," she says, "I meant with _you_, brainless. You know, sex?"

Smiling, I approach her and slide effortlessly between the sheets with her. "You are a master of subtlety, Johanna," I say.

"Quit the sarcasm and kiss me, you big geek," she mutters.

"As you wish," I whisper.

"**Oh, my God! So many stairs! I'd like to find whoever invented the stairs and push him down **_**these **_**stairs—just to show him how stupid stairs are! Then his legs will be broken, and he will no longer be able to climb the stairs anymore! It'll be ironic! And then his wife will leave him and go be with the man who invented the elevator! Because everyone knows that elevators are much sexier than stairs! And oh, my God, I'm not even close to being at the top yet—**_**why are there so many stairs?**_**"**

**from Yu-Gi-Oh! The Abridged Series, Episode 54, "They Saved Tristan's Brain"**

**YGOTAS is a love/obsession of mine, so I suggest you check out the videos on YouTube—the creator is CardGamesFTW, but his videos are often taken down, so you can also find them under animedorkify. :) I also enjoy Jenna Marbles videos, Key of Awesome song parodies, and Epic Rap Battles of History. Why I'm telling you all this eludes me, but after you leave a review, you should definitely check them out! They're hilarious! :)**

**And now, to my self-assessment of the chapter. I know that every Beejo (or **_**any **_**romantic fic featuring Johanna) story has something where the dude helps her either deal with or get over her fear of water, but I did this in spite of the cliché. I hope I did the scene—and this whole chapter—justice. :) I also hope you'll leave me a nice, lengthy review! Chapter 17 will be posted ASAP. **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	17. Chapter 17

**Johanna Mason**

"You have sleepy eyes," Annie greets me when I enter her hospital room the next morning.

I roll my eyes and mutter, "Push over." She does, allowing room for me to sit beside her, and I yawn, resisting the temptation to curl up in bed beside her and have a few hours' sleep.

"Why are you so sleepy?" asks Annie, her sea-green eyes on the wall in front of her. Like her husband did, Annie has found knot-tying therapeutic and is currently weaving and unweaving a small piece of rope as she speaks. Every few minutes, she'll drop her rope and pat her belly, her face contorting with pain before splitting with a smile. She's weird, I'll admit. Freaky, even. But she was Finnick's wife and the closest thing I have to a friend, and most certainly one of the only people I can confide in.

"Are you in a talking mood?" I ask.

Annie's eyes glaze over for a moment before she snaps back to reality and chirps, "Yes!"

"Good."

I spend about a half an hour talking. Mostly about Beetee. My journal doesn't work anymore—just writing down my problems isn't enough. Now I need someone to _talk _to. The head doctor is not to be trusted with this kind of information, so I give it all to Annie instead. Finnick loved her, so I can trust her.

When I've finished speaking, Annie drifts off into her little world before returning with her opinion. "You think Beetee's rushing things?"

"Yes," I say, relieved that someone finally understands.

"Didn't you say you...loved him?" The pause in her words fills with her extensively regarding the swirls on her palms.

"I did," I say, "and I _do _love him, but he says it all the time and I still don't know how to respond. It's like he's saying it all the time to make me believe it, the way a little kid repeats a lie so their parents think it's true when it isn't."

Annie tugs at her rope to undo the knot while she mulls this over. "What does he do that makes you think he's rushing things?"

"He's constantly telling me he loves me. I know that doesn't sound like much," I say, "but it's driving me crazy!"

"Why?"

I ponder this. "Maybe," says Annie, "you're still kind of afraid, like you were at the beginning."

I wouldn't admit to ninety-nine percent of the people in Panem that I'm afraid of _anything_, but Annie's okay, so I say, "Probably. But it's not like I can tell him that. He'll feel so hurt. Ugh, I don't know what to do."

Uncertainty is not Annie's strong suit, so when I see her about to cover her ears and exit reality, I say, "So, have you thought of any names yet? For the baby?"

Her face relaxes at the more comfortable topic. "Not really. I don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet. The doctor says he won't be able to tell for another month."

"If it's a girl, you could call her Johanna Junior," I suggest with a grin.

Annie pauses, realizes I'm joking, and laughs loudly. "What if it's a boy?"

"Hell, still name him Johanna Junior. He'd be honored," I continue, and Annie laughs so hard I have to make her take a few sips of water to help her breathe.

"Thank you," she says when her airway is clear.

"Hey, can't have you choking on me."

"Not that," says Annie. "Helping. Now and when we go back to Four."

I try not to show my uneasiness, but Annie notices. "You _are _coming back to Four with me, right? After the fighting's over? Help me care for the baby?"

"Of course," I say, and she beams.

"Beetee can come too," she adds.

"Um..." I look away. Annie doesn't know that I haven't told Beetee about the baby yet. About my going to 4 after the war yet. We haven't really discussed any kind of future. I don't know what he wants to do after the war. But he's got so much on his mind anyway. I'll tell him about my plans at a more convenient time.

I gradually shift the conversation into a new direction, and by Reflection, we're laughing about more possible baby names. I decide to leave when the bell rings for dinner, but I don't find Beetee in the cafeteria. I eat alone, and then I go down to Special Defense to find him.

He's exactly where I figured he'd be, in the room where they air the propos and such. I sit in an empty revolving chair beside him and start spinning in it, using the back of Beetee's chair to propel myself. My spinning is obviously getting on everyone's nerves—including Beetee's—but I keep doing it anyway. Finally, by seven-thirty, Beetee wipes his face with a rag and grips the arm of my chair to stop me. "Jo," he says.

"Hm?"

His hand leaves the arm of my chair to clasp mine. "Come with me," he says. "I want to talk."

Someone mutters, "Uh-oh." I give him the finger before Beetee escorts me out.

"Did I do something wrong?" I can't help but ask.

"No," says Beetee, seeming surprised. "Of course not. I just wanted to talk to you away from prying eyes."

"Oh. Okay, then." I keep my hand in his as we trek through the maze that is Special Defense.

"Johanna," Beetee finally says, "I think that the rebels are going to take the Capitol soon. Within the month, most likely."

"Cool."

"Very," says Beetee. "We'll all be able to go home soon, put this behind us."

"Uh-huh," I say, unsure where he's going with this.

"And, um..." Beetee reddens and looks away.

"What?" I think I know what now. Our future.

"Well, um, I, um...well, if I were doing this properly," he says, "I would've gotten you, um...but since I couldn't—"

"Spit it out," I demand, annoyed by how confusing he's being.

"Okay, then." Beetee takes one of my hands in both of his and gets on one knee. I stare at him, gaping like a fish, and he stammers, "I love you. When this is over, I want you to marry me. Come back with me and marry me. Please."

I feel really, really dizzy. Marry Beetee? What? That wasn't part of my plan. What _was_, then? I never _had _a plan. I was always playing it by ear. What do I do now? Should I tell him that I'm going to 4 with Annie? What do I do, what do I do?

I've never experienced any real form of self-loathing, but I hate myself for the first words that come out of my mouth. "You're kidding, right?"

Beetee gives me a look that says, _I'm on one knee in the middle of a hallway in Special Defense. Do I _look_ like I'm kidding, brainless?_

"No," he tells me. "I'm not kidding, Johanna. I love you. I want you to come back to Three with me. And be my wife."

What the hell? Where did this come from? How long have we been together? A week, maybe? I need more time than he's giving me. I can't decide any of this in a few minutes. I need hours, days, weeks, months, even _years _to decide this kind of thing. And what kind of place is _this _to propose? We're in the middle of a stinking hallway in Special Defense and a bunch of people are starting to stare. I try to yank him to his feet.

"Get up," I hiss. "People are starting to stare."

Reluctantly, Beetee rises. I spot a hall closet in the distance and drag him to it, closing the door behind us.

"Can I have an answer?" he asks.

"Where the hell did that come from?" I demand.

"I was just asking—"

"In the middle of a swarm of people? You made me look like an idiot!"

"Johanna," says Beetee, "I just asked for your _hand _for crying out loud! Are you really concerned with how you appeared to passers-by?"

"And why do you want my stinking hand?" I persist.

"Because I love you and I want some kind of evidence that you feel the same way," he answers.

My mind enters a tailspin. "What? What do you mean, evidence that I feel the same way?"

"I want you to marry me to prove that you actually feel the way you said you felt but haven't reiterated in the week we've been together," says Beetee.

"What, I have to marry you or else I don't love you?" I demand.

"It appears that way, yes," he says.

"What about last night? What about you making me bathe with you—"

"I did not make you do anything last night, Johanna," Beetee interrupts. "I wanted to help you, and you agreed to let me. I tried to let that be enough proof that you care for me as deeply as I care for you, but your behavior as of late testifies to a different truth."

"What the _hell _are you talking about?"

"You hide from me in Annie's hospital room all day and only ever talk to me if I initiate the conversation—and sometimes, not even then—or immediately after we've had sex."

"What are you trying to say?"

"That it seems to me you've either fallen out of love with me or never loved me in the first place, and that you're now only using me for sexual purposes," says Beetee matter-of-factly.

It takes everything in me not to slap him. "How the hell can _you _say that _you _love me and then accuse me of all of that?" I shout. "If anything, _I'm _the one who should accuse _you _of not loving me and using me for sex!"

"What?" I have his attention now, and I think I've finally gotten him angry. I've never really seen Beetee angry before. I suppose now is as good a time as any. "What do you mean?" he demands.

"The way you constantly say that you love me—it's as if you say it all the time to convince both of us you actually mean it!"

His eyes widen. "How _dare _you," he whispers, his voice shaking with rage. "How _dare _you suggest that I don't mean it! I just poured my heart out to you earlier, risked looking like a fool—"

"Oh, you _more _than risked it," I sneer. "You certainly succeeded."

A muscle leaps in his jaw. Part of my brain is screaming at me—_What are you doing? Drop it! __You don't want to fight with him! You love him! Apologize! At least shut your mouth! _But I can't do any of that, even if I wanted to.

"Yet you can accuse me of not loving you?" Beetee continues.

"You know what, Volts? Why don't you blow off some steam and come see me when you can actually act like an adult? Thanks." I open the door.

"Johanna, get back here," he says, but the anger has dissipated from his voice. Now he just sounds desperate. But it doesn't matter. I'm already gone.

I spend the night with Annie in the hospital; there's no way I'm staying in his compartment. I hide under the bed with Annie's permission until the doctors leave, and then I just sleep beside her. In the morning, I reveal all of my actual reasoning.

"Johanna," says Annie reproachfully, her fingers playing with that rope, "you should apologize."

"I'm not apologizing! I didn't do anything! If anything, _he _should be the one apologizing to _me_," I say.

"At least go talk to him," she says. "It'd show him that you care."

I falter. Would it really? Could I fix this just by seeking him out and apologizing? I _am _sorry...maybe he is too. Maybe we can fix this and pretend it didn't happen. It's not like I wanted it to.

I get off Annie's bed and run my fingers through my hair. "Maybe I will," I say. "Just to see if he's sorry."

Annie smiles a little. "I figured you'd change your mind." Then she drifts off again, still tying and untying her length of rope.

It's nine in the morning, so I race down to Special Defense, my mind running a mile a minute. I've just started thinking about what to say—that I love him, that I'm sorry?—when I see Plutarch. He catches sight of me and hurries over. "Miss Mason," he says, his voice grim. "I was about to go looking for you."

"Have you seen Beetee?" I ask, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

"That's exactly who I need to talk to you about," he says. "I have good news and bad news."

"What's the good news?"

"It's a biggie," says Plutarch, excitement leaking into his voice. "The Capitol has surrendered. We've won."

My eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yes," he says.

"How?"

He becomes grave again. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

I blink, suddenly worried. "Where's Beetee?" I ask.

"Beetee...Beetee is in the hospital," says Plutarch.

"What?!" I start reeling. "What do you mean? Why? What happened? Is he okay?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine," says Plutarch. "He was only admitted as a precaution. He had an anxiety attack in Special Defense and couldn't be calmed. I believe he was put under sedation, but he should be coming around soon—"

"What caused the attack? Dammit, what's going on?" I demand.

Plutarch takes me to a boardroom and sits me down to explain. I feel sick and my ears are ringing, so I only catch a few phrases. "Gale" is one. "Special Defense" is another. "City Circle" is a third. "Rebel medics" is a fourth.

None of it makes sense until I hear another one. The most damning phrase of all. "Bombs."

**Please leave a review! :) I'll update ASAP!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	18. Chapter 18

**Beetee Askeral**

I have long since been awake, but the doctors don't need to know that. I lie on my back, my eyes closed, staring at the insides of my eyelids. Thinking. Contemplating. Condemning.

The parachutes had been Gale's idea. Kill the victims first. Then the inevitable rescuers. I went along with it, deemed it brilliant. Katniss had another word for our plans—"inhuman." She never used it, but I could see it in her eyes. Maybe part of me felt the same way. But no matter. I suppressed that part and aided Gale in the construction of the bombs, the traps. Katniss paid the price. So did her sister. So did about a hundred or so other medics. All dead.

_It might not have been our bomb_, I remind myself. It might have been the Capitol's. We didn't have a Capitol hovercraft. But if Snow did, he would've used it to escape. Coin could've had one taken and never told Gale and me. Or anyone. And we wouldn't have used the parachutes on our own medics. Would we have? Even if we manufactured the bombs, we didn't agree to use them the way they were. Right?

Gale took two gunshot wounds in the Capitol. He stays in the same room as me. One day, he finally pulls back the curtain and sits beside me, looking battered but otherwise normal when I sneak a glance at him. I stay silent, stoic. If he didn't know me better, he'd think I was asleep.

"Was it our bomb, Beetee?" he finally asks.

"I don't know," I whisper to the ceiling, my eyes still closed.

Gale leaves me alone after that.

I imagine myself plucking petals off a flower. _It was our bomb. It wasn't. It was. It wasn't. It was. It wasn't. _I keep pretending to pick away the petals until the stem is bare. But I still don't have an answer.

Someone must have caught wind of my fight with Johanna because it's almost a week before she's allowed to see me. I don't know why I haven't been released yet. Gale has. Perhaps they think I've gone mad. Or perhaps they're afraid that, without the affects of the calming drugs, I'll simply have a relapse of the anxiety attack that overtook me the day the parachutes went off. Someone suggests getting me a psychiatrist. I don't need a psychiatrist.

I just need Johanna.

Eventually, they let her in. I hear her footsteps, hear her pull up a chair, feel her clasp my hand. I stay still and silent until she speaks. "How does it feel to be on this side of the hospital bed?" she asks.

I open my eyes and sit up some. Jo hands me my glasses. I put them on, blinking at the clarity. She half-smiles.

"Hi," she says.

"Hello."

Silence. She squeezes my fingers. "I'm sorry," she finally says.

Johanna shouldn't be sorry. She did nothing wrong. It was my fault, all my fault. As always. What compelled me to propose, I don't know. But I put too much pressure on her. I overwhelmed her. Accused her for no reason. I guess her rejection hurt me enough to say things I didn't mean. I try to spell this out for her, but instead, I say what she claims to have tired of hearing. "I love you."

"I love you too." She says it. Just like that. The simple response I have never received. I can't help but smile.

"Was that so hard?"

"It's not that I don't," she says, ignoring me. "They tried to make me sell myself like they did Finnick. They killed my whole family because I wouldn't. My parents, my older sister, my little brother. All dead. Executed in town square. One, two, three, four gunshots. Just like that. Now you see them, now you don't." She looks toward the door, but not as if she wants to leave. As if she needs something to focus on to keep her steady. I suppose it's all the time she's spent with Annie. "I loved them, Beetee. Still do. And they died. Love isn't enough to save someone, to keep them from dying or leaving. That's what scares me the most. That's why I never say that I love you, never respond when you do." She finally looks at me, her expression softer than I have ever seen it. She gently rests her palm against the side of my face. "When I don't say it, it doesn't mean I don't love you. It means I'm scared of losing you."

I have two choices: either kiss her or cry. I choose the first one, lightly pressing my lips against hers, my fingers tracing a pattern from the nape of her neck to her shoulder. Johanna pulls away first, resting her forehead against mine.

"I take it you're sorry for all the stuff you said," she infers.

"Of course."

She sits next to me on the bed and allows me to drape an arm around her shoulders. Her head nestles into the crook of my neck, where it seems to fit best. For a long, long time, we're both silent.

"How's Annie?" I finally ask.

"Fine," says Jo. "I should probably go see her, though." She looks at me. "If that's okay with you."

I chuckle. "Johanna, I never have been and never will be able to control what you do. If I think about it, it's probably what I admire most about you."

Grinning, she gives me another kiss before leaving the hospital room in search of her friend. I lie back, and for the first time since the parachutes detonated, I sleep soundly.

I'm finally released from the hospital the next day, and to my surprise, so is Annie. We make a new arrangement—until Snow's trial and execution, Annie will live with Johanna in Compartment 135. I promise to keep an eye on them from 134. Taking care of Johanna from afar, as always, because no matter how much I hate to admit it, she doesn't need me and can take care of herself.

A few weeks pass. Plutarch occasionally visits with news. A depressed Katniss Everdeen has been released from the hospital. Snow is in prison and awaiting execution. And finally, after what feels like years and years of waiting, the day comes.

I don't have much, but I bring some clothes for the trip to the Capitol and leave scouring Special Defense for blueprints I made for after the execution. Johanna brings the bundle of pine needles Katniss made her way back when and her journal. Annie brings nothing, but doesn't seem bothered by the fact. Jo leads her along when she drifts off to her little world.

The hovercraft ride is silent. Johanna sits by me, her fingers woven with mine, her eyes closed. I squeeze her hand to see if she's asleep, and she squeezes back. Annie sits across from us with Plutarch. After a moment, a badly burned Peeta joins us.

"I thought he was still in intensive care," says Johanna, opening her eyes.

Peeta sits silently next to Plutarch. "President Coin has requested the presence of all seven victors, regardless of their current condition," says the former Head Gamemaker.

Annie lets out a small shriek. "Seven?" I repeat.

"What happened to the rest?" Johanna demands.

"Victors were unfortunately targeted by the Capitol and rebels alike," says Plutarch gravely.

I squeeze Johanna's fingers again. "That's...awful," I say.

"Indeed," Plutarch agrees.

Silence prevails once again. We soon reach the Capitol and are given rooms in the Presidential Mansion. Jo and I aren't assigned one to share, but she spends most of her nights with me anyway. A thick veil of darkness and death looms over everyone, so waking with Johanna is very comforting. Most nights, we're too exhausted to be amorous. We just sleep and chase away each other's nightmares simply by being there.

Our stay in the Capitol reaches its fourth day before Annie, Johanna, Peeta, and me are collected and brought to a boardroom with no explanation. Enobaria soon joins us, seeming smug as ever.

Haymitch enters shortly after Enobaria. And then, the Mockingjay herself. The girl who was on fire. How horribly appropriate. Her skin is a patchwork quilt of bright scarlet, flamingo pink, snowy white. I wince upon realizing that her prep team must have already worked with her—I can only imagine how bad she looked before.

The imaginary flower is in my hands again. _It was our bomb. It wasn't. It was. It wasn't._

Katniss finally speaks. "What's this?"

"We're not sure. It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors," replies her mentor.

"We're all that's left?" says Katniss.

"The price of celebrity. We were targeted from both Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol," I explain.

"So what's _she_ doing here?" says Johanna.

"She is protected under what we call the Mockingjay Deal. Wherein Katniss Everdeen agreed to support the rebels in exchange for captured victors' immunity," Coin answers upon entering behind Katniss. "Katniss has upheld her side of the bargain, and so shall we."

Enobaria smirks. Johanna scowls and says, "Don't look so smug. We'll kill you anyway."

I touch her wrist again. She settles in the back of her chair, glowering but nonetheless controlling her temper.

"Sit down, please, Katniss," says Coin. Katniss obeys, sitting between Annie and me and placing a white rose in a tall glass of water on the table. Coin closes the door to assure our privacy and sits at the head of the table. "I've asked you here to settle a debate," she announces. "Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this. So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote. What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power."

Annie, Johanna, Peeta, Katniss, Haymitch, me, and even Enobaria stare at her in shock. Johanna recovers first to ask, "What?"

"We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin.

"Are you joking?" says Peeta.

"No," Coin replies. "I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security."

"Was this Plutarch's idea?" Haymitch asks.

"It was mine. It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life," she explains. "You may cast your votes."

"No! I vote no, of course!" Peeta cries. "We can't have another Hunger Games!"

"Why not?" says Johanna. I stare at her. "It seems very fair to me," she continues. "Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes."

I understand her decision. That doesn't mean I like it. I sigh. _Oh, Johanna_, I think sadly, _why must you always be motivated by vengeance?_

"So do I," says Enobaria, interrupting my thoughts. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine."

"This is why we rebelled! Remember?" Peeta protests. "Annie?"

"I vote no with Peeta," she says. "So would Finnick if he were here."

"But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him," counters Jo.

What I wouldn't give to take her out of the room and talk with her. I know what she's feeling. Lust for revenge. An emotion I've seen in Gale's eyes many a time. I want to reason with her, but in this state, in these circumstances, that would get me nowhere. I speak to her indirectly by casting my own vote. "No. It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No."

I try to catch her eye. Johanna will not look at me.

"We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin.

I wait for Katniss's answer. Surely she will say no—after what happened to Prim, surely she will refuse to hold another Hunger Games. But when she answers, she blows that assumption out of the water. "I vote yes...for Prim."

"Haymitch, it's up to you," Coin declares.

_Please, Haymitch. Do the right thing._

"I'm with the Mockingjay," he says.

I bow my head in defeat.

"Excellent," says Coin. "That carries the vote. Now we must really take our places for the execution."

As we make to take our positions, Katniss gives Coin the rose in the water glass and says, "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?"

"Of course," Coin answers with a smile that makes my blood boil. "And I'll make sure he knows about the Games."

"Thank you," says Katniss.

I deliberately allow everyone to exit before me and catch Johanna's hand as she leaves. She gives me a look of such venom that it actually hurts.

"Why?" I murmur. "Why?"

"Do you really want to know why?" she hisses. "For you. For them making me afraid to love you. For my parents and my older sister and little brother and for stupid, whiny, pathetic little me!"

Johanna seems near tears, but she doesn't allow me to comfort her and instead marches off. A single tear rolls down my cheek and Annie approaches, gently wiping it away. "Don't worry," she says. "She'll come around."

I watch as she disappears into the throng of people. "I hope so," I murmur. "I sure hope so."

**Please leave a review! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	19. Chapter 19

**This chapter is kind of short, but it _is _a wrap-up chapter. It's also the last chapter in Jo's POV, not counting her epilogue. Yes, this story is almost finished. Will our unlikely lovers get their happy ending? Let's find out...**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

**Johanna Mason**

Beetee looks for me in the crowd once we're standing outside the City Circle, but I keep myself hidden by a pack of guards, seething. He doesn't understand. Those bastards killed my whole family. Turned me into a monster. Made it impossible to express my feelings to the one I love most. They deserve to watch their children die, one by one.

I watch as Katniss appears, eliciting wild screams of delight. Snow walks out after, being led by District 13 soldiers. The crowd goes crazy. I cover my ears the way Annie always does.

Katniss loads her bow and points an arrow at Snow, at the rose in his lapel. The crowd has become as silent as a morgue, waiting, waiting...

The Mockingjay shoots.

Coin topples over the railing, shattering like a porcelain doll upon impact.

My first feeling is rage. Katniss promised me she would kill Snow—she promised! And now, there he is, laughing his head off. That bitch, that rotten bitch. I should have known better than to trust her.

Rage has subsided to dismay and numbness when Katniss is captured. Someone comes up behind me, wraps their arms around my waist. I don't have to turn around or ask who. I just start walking as I am directed. We soon reach a hovercraft packed with the other four victors. Beetee lets me go and enters. I do the same, squeezing between Annie and Peeta and wishing I didn't feel so hollow.

A trial ensues, of course, when we arrive in 13. I testify. Beetee testifies. Annie testifies. Even Peeta, though briefly. We're free to go after we're done, and I decide that I want to do just that. I throw away the bundle of pine needles Katniss made me, locking up whatever I still feel for her in a little box in my mind to be opened and explored another day. The journal also gets trashed. I don't need it anymore. All I can do now is wait until Annie's ready to leave. I'm going back with her. No doubt. A promise is a promise. But I realize that there's something I must do first.

"I'll be right back," I tell Annie.

"Okay." She's in her little world again. I leave the compartment.

I run into him on my way to Special Defense. "I was wondering when I'd find you," says Beetee. "I want to show you something before we leave."

He takes my hand and we take the elevator. He presses the button labeled _Special Defense_. He doesn't ask about the vote. About my opinion of Katniss's choice. He doesn't say anything. Just leads me through the maze until he softly requests I close my eyes. Confused, I do, and I'm led into another room. I open my eyes when told to, and I see something I didn't expect, something I've been longing for since I left 7 once upon a time. Trees. Lots of trees. Green grass and hummingbirds and wildflowers and nothing electronic, nothing at all. I gasp.

"Wow," I whisper. For the first time, I'm speechless.

"It's a wonder something so lovely could be in a place so dreary, isn't it?" Beetee muses.

"It's beautiful," I say. "I can't believe they built a _meadow _down here..."

"I wasn't talking about the meadow," says Beetee matter-of-factly. He meets my eyes. "I was talking about you."

I roll my eyes and grip his wrist, tugging him inside the meadow.

The air is cool and smells like springtime. It's silent but for the whir of tiny wings. I hurry to the nearest tree and make Beetee laugh when I feverishly climb up it, perching in one of the tallest branches.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've been in a tree?" I answer.

Beetee laughs again. "Quite some time, eh?"

"Yes!"

He leans against my tree and looks up, gazing fondly at me. I try to ignore his expression, what will eventually be the heartbreaking goodbye. After some time, I finally swing down and land beside him. "This is amazing," I say, running to another tree. I pluck a few wildflowers from the trunk and clumsily weave a necklace from them, fixating it around my neck.

"Beautiful," says Beetee.

He approaches me and we sit side-by-side at the trunk of the tree. I fiddle with my flower necklace. Somehow, my hand ends up in his. We're both silent now. I think he already knows what's coming. I don't think I can prolong it much further.

Beetee speaks first. "You're going to Four with Annie, aren't you?"

I blink. "Did she tell you?"

"She told me she was pregnant," he says. "The rest I put together myself."

"She needs me more than you do," I explain, my voice weak.

"I know," he says simply.

Silence. "I'm sorry," I say. "For not telling you before. About Annie."

"Why didn't you?"

Why didn't I? He could always come with me. We could still have a happy ending. But my mouth forms words I didn't know I'd say. "Because I knew you'd never come with me. That we'd have to say goodbye. And I hate goodbyes, Beetee."

"Doesn't everyone?" He adjusts his glasses.

"I'm right. You're not coming with me. You can't."

"I'd like to." Beetee sighs. "But you're right. I can't."

"Why not?"

"Wiress, for one. She was my best friend. I should collect her belongings, decide what to keep, what to sell, et cetera. Help put Three back together. No doubt it's a mess. They'll probably need my help in one way or another. Plutarch will undoubtedly want my help now that he's secretary of communications."

"He is? I didn't know." I knew Paylor, a commander from 8, was the new president, but I didn't know Plutarch got a prommotion. Good for him, I guess.

"A relationship isn't in our best interest at the moment," says Beetee. "And you can't come back with me, either."

"Finnick was _my _best friend. I promised Annie I'd help her look after the baby until she's on her feet again. I have to go," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I understand."

"That doesn't mean you like it."

"No, it doesn't."

More silence. I pick at the grass with my free hand. "The Games won't happen," Beetee finally says. "Plutarch discussed it with President Paylor. They aren't going to happen."

"Whatever."

"Are you okay with that?"

"I guess I'll have to be."

"That isn't an answer, Jo."

"I'm fine with it," I say. "Really. I just want to put all of this behind us already. Pretend it never happened."

"You know that's not possible."

"Yeah. I do. But I can dream."

I move so that I'm lying on my back, my head in his lap. His fingers gently caress my hair. I close my eyes.

"I promise," I say, "that I _will _come back. That this isn't permanent. I'll come back. We'll have our stinking happy ending even if I have to snap some necks to accomplish it."

Beetee chuckles sadly. "That's my girl," he murmurs. He rests his head against the tree trunk. "That's my girl."

We're quiet for a few more minutes. A voice overhead announces that the lights-out will occur in five minutes and that we're to return to our compartments. I blink back tears. "I don't want to say goodbye," I whisper. I sound weak, but you know what? With him, it doesn't matter.

I sit up and Beetee puts his hands on my waist, resting his forehead against mine. "Then don't."

Somehow, his mouth ends up on my neck. My head is tilted back, and I close my eyes again when the lights turn off. Something tells me we're staying in the meadow tonight. I realize I wouldn't want it any other way.

**Aww...be sure to stay tuned for the last chapter, coming soon! Then two epilogues, and a sequel. Yes, I'm writing a sequel! ^.^ But wait to jump for joy until _after _you leave a review!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	20. Chapter 20

**And here it is! Our last chapter! It's the shortest one as of yet, but please enjoy anyway!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

**Beetee Askeral**

Johanna and I leave the meadow the next morning and enter our separate compartments. We don't discuss what happened last night. What happened in the meadow will stay in the meadow. If there are cameras in the room, I sincerely hope the tapes are erased. Anyone in their right mind would erase the tapes upon seeing what was filmed, though. No sane person would keep a tape with that content on their shelf.

I have few belongings in 13, so it doesn't take me long to find them, but I purposely prolong my packing. The idea of returning to District 3 alone is not pleasant. Plutarch will accompany me in a few weeks with a project for us to undertake together, but other than that, I will be by myself. But as I pack my things for my return to 3, I am comforted by Johanna's promise. That she will come back to me. Someday, somehow, she will come back to me.

Having a loved one snatched abruptly is horrible. Anyone who goes through that often says that they long for a goodbye. However, I don't see the logic in that. I don't want a goodbye. Johanna doesn't either. So we don't have one. Neither of us utters the word "goodbye." That would imply that a reunion will not happen. "Goodbye for now" sounds too frivolous. So we simply discard the word with any attachments and instead leave with promises to reunite eventually, sealing those promises with a kiss. Well, more than one kiss, actually. Several. But as I said, what happened in the meadow will stay in the meadow.

I meander into Special Defense for the last time to retrieve the blueprints for future inventions that I drew but didn't work on in lieu of putting off what I believed to be the priorities—the weapons that I made. I don't want to think about them. When I enter the workroom I shared with Gale, I realize that I have no idea where he is. I ask someone in the workroom across from mine if he knows, and he says that Gale left for 2 a few days ago. That means we'll only be a district away from each other, a four-hour train ride at the most, but I know that I will not keep in touch. So much more than distance separates us now. The fact that Gale left me no note, no telephone number, tells me that he feels exactly the same way. I feel a little sad when I remember the friendship we used to have. Afterward, all I feel is relief that I will not have his presence to remind me of the bomb.

I stored all of my blueprints in a folder, so I need only collect it before I go to the Hangar, the home of all the hovercrafts. According to the schedule tattooed in my arm, I'm scheduled to board Hovercraft 46 at precisely one o'clock in the afternoon. I look over at a clock on the wall. Nine-thirty. I still have time to kill.

I'd love to spend the last three and a half hours I have in 13 with Johanna, but even if she hasn't left yet—and I don't think she has—it wouldn't be a good idea. As much as I want to see her, our farewell scene in the meadow was more than sufficient. It conveyed all of our feelings and more. Adding on to that would flavor the sweet parting with awkwardness and sorrow. It's better this way.

During lunch, Plutarch stops by to update me on Katniss's trial. She's been exonerated, thanks to her psychiatrist, and they're simply working out the terms of her release. "How's Katniss doing?" I ask.

"Not well," says Plutarch. "She has periods where she refuses to eat or drink. Many periods. She's suicidal. I'm not sure what she thinks we plan to do with her."

"Has anyone gone to speak with her?"

"No," says Plutarch gravely. "The government of Thirteen has insisted she be treated like a criminal even though she's already been acquitted. The idea of her all alone in there breaks my heart..."

"When she gets out," I say, "send her my best wishes, will you?"

"Of course," he says with a smile.

I ascend to the Hangar at twelve-thirty to locate the hovercraft that will take me to 3. My blueprints are secure in the folder I've bound with tape. I find a waiting area and a very old Capitol magazine that actually dates before the Dark Days; I thumb through it and decide that it's utter garbage about various fashion faux pas. I throw it down and instead work on the blueprints I've created during my stay in 13. Revising, revising, revising. As I did before we became a couple, I find myself sketching Jo's name in the corner. This time, however, I don't erase it.

At one-twenty, I'm directed to Hovercraft 46 and am about to board when Plutarch hurries up with an envelope. "I almost forgot," he pants, out of breath. "Here."

I stare at it, confused, but Plutarch can't explain because I'm herded into the hovercraft and instructed to strap myself in. I do, and then I open the envelope. Inside is a single white index card. Written in black marker are the words _I LOVE YOU _in all capitals.

I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. It smells of pine needles and orange blossoms and saltwater.

**I wanted to make this chapter longer, but I simply couldn't. I think I left it at a good place, though. The epilogues will be up ASAP—please review before then! And please know that that note _wasn't _from Plutarch. :P **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	21. Epilogue - Johanna

**Johanna Mason**

Even though I don't have any actual possessions anymore, Annie insists that I "personalize" the extra room in her home. Plutarch Heavensbee gave me Beetee's phone number, so I call him up and ask for suggestions. He sends me his photograph. When I get it, I call him again and tease him for thinking his picture would liven up my room. I don't keep it out. Instead, I keep it under my pillow. But he doesn't need to know that little detail.

I call him as often as possible, at least three times a week. Sometimes we only get two minutes to establish our moods and stuff before we have to do something else, but sometimes we can spend all night on the phone. Beetee sends love letters full of words so big I have to use a thesaurus to translate them. I guess it's the thought that counts. He also sends me dozens upon dozens of photos. Some of himself, some of the reconstruction of 3—it wasn't firebombed like 12, but it did withstand a good bit of damage—some of his inventions. One day, he calls and asks why I don't send any. I explain that I don't have a camera. A few days later, he sends one.

I take pictures of everything—Annie's growing belly, the sea, me. I learn that Beetee's never been to the ocean. Before moving in with Annie, I hadn't either. I promise to bring him here eventually—the ocean has to be one of the best things ever. It's beautiful, even if I only let my feet get wet at the moment. I used to like swimming before the Capitol intervened. Maybe if he's here, I'll be brave enough to go in the ocean for the first time.

We agree not to visit one another until our stays can be permanent. No goodbyes, ever. Not even over the phone. We end our phone conversations and letters by saying "I love you," but never with "goodbye." I can write those three words, but sometimes, it's hard to say them. I still think of my parents and siblings, and I get scared. Beetee's making me less scared, but I still find voicing my love difficult. He tells me not to worry about it, that it's okay, but he always seems a little dejected when I keep responding with "Me too" when he tells me he loves me.

Today, he calls again, and we have a good hour and a half to talk. Afterward, I once again hang up the phone without telling him that I love him, and after that, I make a promise to myself. Someday, I will tell him what he means to me. Someday. Just not today.

**Beetee's will be posted ASAP. :) Please review!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	22. Epilogue - Beetee

**Beetee Askeral**

Spending my days with the woman I realize is the love of my life is not easy or particularly pleasurable, but somehow, I manage to go through the motions with a smile—albeit a weak one—every single day since our separation. Plutarch certainly helps with his eternal cheerfulness. Aiding in the rebuilding and refinement of my broken district is another. I try to construct some of the contraptions I drew plans for in 13, but I find myself thinking about Johanna instead. I'm like an artist without his muse. Uncreative and melancholy.

I want her here every moment of every day, but I don't pressure her into visiting because of our mutual hatred of goodbyes. We will not meet again until we're sure we cannot be torn apart. Our reasoning is sound, but when I wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare about children burning alive from the bomb I might have made, I weep because I don't have her to console me, to convince me that even if it _was _my bomb, I'm not a monster. Out of courtesy for Annie, I never call in the middle of the night. I wait until nine in the morning to make a call—I'm usually not otherwise occupied and can catch Johanna for at least a half an hour. When I can't speak to her, I write what I would say and send it in a letter. Sometimes I simply ramble about everything under the sun—my feelings, my inventions. Never about how much I miss her. She knows that without having to be reminded. Sometimes I take special care to word my letters until they're hopefully the epitome of romance, pages upon pages of my heart poured onto paper. It still isn't enough—I could have all the paper in the world and a pencil that never goes dull and still not be able to catalog the extent of my love for her.

Using the camera I sent her, Johanna now often encloses photographs in her letters. Some are of the ocean, where she promises to take me one day. Some are of Annie, whose stomach is growing rapidly in correlation to her pregnancy. The best ones are of her. Annie takes most of these to make sure they're as clear as possible, and I frame them and place them all over my house. I keep one on the refridgerator at all times along with the index card bearing the words _I LOVE YOU _as a constant reminder that they ring true. I also remind myself daily that our separation is not permanent. Someday, I'll have more than phone calls and letters and photographs.

And for now, that will be enough.

**And, fin! :) What do you think? I'll post the sequel—_Fire and Rain—_as soon as possible!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


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